


HEAL MY MIND (Erwin Smith x OC)

by mrsackxrman



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anger Management, Anxiety, Character Development, Character Study, Cheating, Depression, Developing Relationship, Divorce, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Infidelity, Eventual Smut, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Love Confessions, Marriage, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Third Person Omniscient, Panic Attacks, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Relationship Issues, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-01-16 02:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21263933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsackxrman/pseuds/mrsackxrman
Summary: 𝐄𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐱 𝐎𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫Venice, a wife and mother with a broken soul and dysfunctional relationships with all those around her, was referred to a psychiatrist, Dr. Erwin Smith, after suffering from a sudden burst of panic attacks and found herself slowly falling for him.But was it truly love? Or was it simply an illusion her brain had created to fill in the gaps that were left empty within her?Follow as she sails in an arduous journey where she unearths her true feelings, realizes her worth, and starts all over again in order to find herself.𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧; 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝.





	1. What makes you happy?

"You have arrived at your destination," announced the mechanical voice of the navigation device as Venice's black E-class reached the parking lot. Her hands skillfully steered the wheel as she neatly reverse-parked the car in a vacant spot at the far, left end. Turning off the engine, she stole one last glance at her reflection in the mirror before fleeing the vehicle.

Pristinely dressed in a lilac satin blouse tucked in a dark-gray pencil skirt, Venice pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and draped her Gucci handbag over her shoulder before beginning her trek towards the building.

Mindful of the snooping gazes that landed on her form as soon as the clicking sound of her black stilettos against the tiled floor of the entrance declared her arrival, Venice remained unwavering and purposefully made her way to the elevator.

Her eyes scrupulously skimmed through the lines inscribed on the large directions sign hanging on the wall until they met the name she had come for. _Second floor._

As Venice patiently waited for the elevator doors to slide open, the onlookers littering the reception area bored their globes into the back of her skull, trying to uncover the reason behind her visit. Their narrow minds rapidly presumed—solely based on her appearance—that the young woman must have been leading a perfect life. What was she doing there? She appeared it to have it all, but was wealth sufficient to make one happy?

To some of those observing from afar, it certainly was. Who wouldn't want to drive German and dress French and Italian? But it wasn't until they'd had it all that people understood how immateriality of it all. Appearances were deceptive indeed, and Venice was a fine example.

**~**

Stepping into the corridor, Venice strode to the third door on the left. Scanning the name engraved on the sign once more, she took off her sunglasses, placed them in their case, and took a long, quivered breath. All traces of poise paraded earlier vanished as nuances of her underlying nervousness and indecisiveness began to simmer.

In all truth, Venice didn't want to be there, and the thought of backing away fleetingly crossed her mind, but she rapidly chased it away, for she knew that running away wouldn't make her condition any better. So, with an encouraging nod, she gripped the handle and pushed the door open.

Crossing the dimly-lit waiting room, Venice took a seat on a gray couch stationed at the center under two large windows overlooking a park across from the clinic. The harmonious chirping of birds and the vigorous shouting of small children as they delighted in the lovely weather seeped through the ajar glass.

The indoors, however, juxtaposed gravely with the bustling outdoors as the room bathed in a grim atmosphere. Wooden bars glazed the walls enfolding the space, and various photographs and paintings adorned them. Venice crossed her arms over her chest as she contemplated the canvases—most of which were replicas of famous arts she knew all too well.

Her meandering gaze idled on a clone of 'The Scream' as the shrieking figure shrouded by the crepuscular, orange sky exuded a strangely familiar aura. The merged, bloody colors reflected the kindled sentiments that were ravaging her very mind and gradually burning down her very soul.

Lost in the puzzling piece of art, Venice was immediately brought back to reality when she heard a soft click. Swerving her head to the right, she watched as the double doors opened to reveal a tall man—her doctor she assumed.

Venice remained motionless for a few instants, raptly drinking in the dapper silhouette of the fine specimen that stepped outside. A pair of slim, navy slacks hung from his waist and fell impeccably above his glassy, black Oxford shoes. A light, blue button-up swung from his broad shoulders, sheathing his muscular, upper build to perfection as its folded sleeves allowed the bulging veins clawing along his toned forearms to protrude enticingly. And his blonde locks, neatly parted on the left and pulled backward, shaped his long and well-defined face flawlessly.

_This man is the epitome of manliness._

Her brown eyes cruised up slowly to finally link with his ocean-blue ones, and a genuine smile instantly enriched his striking features.

"Mrs. Williams?" he said.

"Yes," Venice breathed out, her voice barely an octave higher than a whisper, the complete opposite of the self-assured tone she had intended to speak in.

The overwhelming presence of this man had rattled Venice, turning her into a puddle of self-consciousness. Swiftly shrouding her insecurities with the self-confidence she'd briefly let slip, Venice rose to her feet and marched towards the office.

Dr. Smith pushed the door further and stepped aside, allowing her to enter first._ Is this Hange's friend?_

Given the nature of his profession and his character, Dr. Smith wasn't one to judge people based on their appearances, but still, it was difficult to believe that this woman walking past him was one of his friend's acquaintances. The two ladies looked so disparate that it even sparked a flare of curiosity within him as to know how they'd become friends in the first place.

Venice stood a few steps away, waiting for her doctor. She spun around to face him when she heard the door shut.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the two armchairs placed at the center of the room.

Striding further inside, Venice took the first seat closest to the door. Placing her bag atop the coffee table separating the two chairs, she let her clasped hands rest on her lap as she surveyed her surroundings. The walls were similar to the ones outside, basking the office in soporific coziness. On her left, a long, oak desk was situated along with a leather chair while built-in shelves, packed with sprucely arranged books and other small ornaments, burnished the wall to her right.

Dr. Smith sat opposite her, crossed his legs, and folded his hands over his knee, kindly waiting as his patient's gaze sprinted around his office. Venice's sense of inquisitiveness and evident self-assurance were a welcome change from the reservedness and timidity his patients would usually exhibit during their first sessions.

"My understanding from Dr. Zoe is that you suffered from a panic attack," he spoke, and Venice nodded her head in response.

"Well, that's what _the doctors_ said when all the other tests came back negative," she explained, "which is why Hange sent me here."

Raising one of his glorious brows, Dr. Smith asked, "So, you don't think that you had a panic attack?"

Venice had no clue as to what her condition was, and frankly, she couldn't care less. She didn't even know why she had agreed to attend this session in the first place.

Shrugging her shoulders dismissively, she heaved a weary sigh. "What do I know?"

Having previously checked her medical record, Dr. Smith was well aware that his patient's body was sound, which only left her mental health as a probable cause of the sudden panic attacks that had begun plaguing her.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked.

"Good... I guess," she answered.

A discomforting silence settled as Venice and Dr. Smith quietly stared at one another for a few moments before he spoke up, "Do you have any idea on why you collapsed?"

Venice kept her lips sealed in a firm line. She had never seen a psychiatrist before and knew nothing about their work tactics, but a cross-interrogation was the last thing she had expected to go through when coming here. _Shouldn't you be the one telling me? You're the doctor._

"I don't know, stress maybe."

"About what?" he asked, and an exhale burdened with palpable annoyance promptly filtered past her lips.

Venice had never struggled with voicing her feelings and had been in control of her emotions—most of the time. However, and just like any other human being, her inner mind was inundated with the squalliest thoughts, ones she had never shared, and strived to keep enclosed in the back of her head.

Seemingly, her therapist was set on making her roam through that classified folder of sentiments and having her lay all her deeply-seated misgivings out, but she wasn't having it. Excavating the roots of those feelings was something she had never tried before nor intended to do.

"I have no idea, to be honest. I don't even know why I'm here."

"You're here to get help because, as you know very well, you're in good physical shape."

"Okay, why don't you help me then?" Venice asked flippantly.

"I can't if you refuse to tell me what's wrong."

Venice shriveled in her seat; to say she felt foolish would be an enormous understatement.

"Therapy is different, Mrs. Williams. There are no tests or prescriptions. Well, maybe prescriptions, but we'll come to that later on. But firstly, you need to let me know what is going on in your mind so we can figure it out together. When patients finally bring themselves to admit their problems aloud, the therapeutic process becomes much easier."

Venice knew that Dr. Smith was correct; after all, confronting one's feelings was what it was all about. And yet, an invisible cord woven from reticence and apprehension held her back. She feared that diving into the abyss of her darkest qualms would drown her soul further and she would never be able to escape.

As Venice shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, Erwin sensed her hesitation and continued in an attempt to encourage her to open up, "What we discuss during our sessions stays here. I can't and won't talk about any of it to anybody else. You don't need to worry."

Letting her hand fall torpidly on her thighs, Venice met the anticipating gaze of her shrink. The solace his eyes radiated was mystifying, and Venice bobbed her head slowly in a single nod.

"Tell me about the day you collapsed."

"It was my son's birthday party," she began. "We had some friends and family over and I was in the kitchen going over the food. My mother was running late, so, I called her to ask where she was, and she suddenly lost it over the phone and started crying about how nobody went to pick her up and how we didn't care about her... then I felt my chest tighten..." she trailed off.

"And you lost consciousness?" Dr. Smith finished.

"Yeah." Venice looked down. "I ended up ruining my son's party, which probably made him hate me even more... And then the doctors put me through all kinds of tests until I finally ended up here."

"What makes you think your son hates you?"

Venice slumped her shoulders and sank back in her chair, a glimmer of pain flashing across her traits as she remained silent.

"How old is he?"

"Twelve," she answered.

"That's very normal. Teenagers do tend to start disliking their parents during their early stages of adolescence."

"Only seems to dislike me; he loves his father," she scoffed.

"Adolescents dislike being defined and treated as 'just children'. You have the power to control resources, make demands, and limit his freedom..." he clarified. "Maybe his father goes easier on him than you do, and that is why he feels closer to him."

"Oh, he does spoil him!"

"You should understand that this negative behavior is part of the process of adolescence and not take it hurtfully."

"I know; I've been there before. But it just hurts, you know, because I've made sure to be to him everything that my mother wasn't to me. To watch him drift away like this..." Venice mumbled, her fingertips twiddling with the hem of her skirt.

"Loss of liking is not loss of love. Your son loves you; he just doesn't like you, right now, during this transitional period. If you understand this, you'll be able to treat the unwelcome change as a passing and not permanent fixture," Dr. Smith explained.

"It's easier said than done."

Venice's relationship with her son seemed to draw in an infinite loop of questions, and no matter how much she ruminated on it, she couldn't put her hand precisely on where she could've gone wrong to make her son so distant. Her therapist's conciliatory words proved to be futile, failing in alleviating her anguish and placating her anxiousness as a mist of sadness shaded her countenance.

"Dr. Zoe said you had admitted to her that you were feeling depressed."

Venice was abruptly hauled out of her trance, her eyes spreading wide as her mouth hung open. "What?"

_How could Hange tell him that? I'll kill her._

Dr. Smith smiled faintly, revived to have finally succeeded in getting to his reserved patient. In the end, this was his job: to stimulate and incite her to open up. "Do you feel depressed?" he asked.

Venice blankly stared back at him, transfixed. _Am I depressed?_

"Do you, Mrs. Williams?" he pressed.

A defeated sigh breezed from her mouth. "I don't know. I guess I do..." she said and immediately buried her face in the palms of her hands, incredulous that she had easily succumbed to her therapist's ploys.

"Why is that?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Venice snarled as she looked up, an aggrieved glower etched onto her traits.

Erwin's expression remained unswerving, and she detached her eyes from his shortly after to lower them in mortification. Her reply—though unexpected—didn't surprise him. He'd been subjected to much worse rejoinders during his modest career as a psychiatrist, and his natural response had always been to tolerantly wait for his patients to recollect before they eventually gave in.

"I'm not happy, I guess," Venice conceded, feeling a cloud of scorching tears steam across her vision. "I may look like I have everything, but I'm unhappy." She shifted in her seat and chuckled lowly as she wiped the droplets threatening to stream down her face away.

Erwin attentively observed Venice's every move as he had finally gotten her where he wanted her. His tactics had never failed him; he was hesitant at first, thinking they wouldn't work on her, but it turned out she was no different than his other patients.

"I guess I'm just ungrateful. I mean, people have so much less, and here I am, complaining when I have a family and food and a roof over my head."

"Having those things does not equate happiness," Dr. Smith stated.

"Yeah? And what does?"

"Well, happiness is subjective; its meaning varies from one person to another. What would you consider happiness?"

_What would I consider happiness?_

"Okay, I'll rephrase it. What makes you happy?" he asked.

Venice's gaze veered from her doctor's to pin on the window glazing the wall behind him. _What makes me happy?_ Engrossed in the mayhem that was her life, Venice had never stopped to ask herself that question. Since a long time ago, her life hadn't belonged to her anymore. She had entirely devoted her being to her loved ones, yearning to please them and win back their affection, and had forgotten to love herself in the process. _What good would it have been to know anyway?_

Long moments of quietness passed by before Venice answered, "I don't know."


	2. Toxicity

"So, you never went back since your first appointment two weeks ago?" Hange asked, her eyes dilating in incredulity.

"Nope," Venice answered, not bothering to meet the disappointed gaze of her friend.

Venice and Hange had met earlier in the afternoon. They’d had lunch together, and after a few hours of moseying around the city and window shopping, they decided to stop by their favorite café to blather comfortably. They were seated in their usual corner in the terrace, overlooking the bustling boulevards.

It was almost sunset, and Venice looked up, contemplating the dazzling sky soaring above them in sheer admiration as the fading rays highlighted the dissolving clouds in a hybrid of orange and violet. The soothing panorama wrapped Venice’s soul in a veil of serenity.

"Why not?" Hange whined, snapping her friend out of her blissful trance. "You didn't like him?"

"No, I did like him. I mean, who wouldn't with his looks—"

Hange smacked Venice’s arm. "Not like that, idiot!"

"Listen, Hange, just drop it, okay? I know it's not going to work," Venice said with a frivolous shrug of her shoulders as she sipped at her burning tea.

"But your body is fine, Vee, which means the problem is in your head, and the only cure to that is to talk."

"I can talk to you," Venice said, a playful simper dancing at her lips as she tilted her head to the side and fluttered her eyelashes.

"To a professional I meant."

Venice’s frolicsome countenance evaporated as she rolled her eyes and heaved a defeated sigh. Deep down, she knew Hange was right, and to say that she abhorred her session with Dr. Smith would be a blatant lie; it was not insufferable. What had irked her the most, however, was that he had effortlessly managed to get so much out of her. Granted, it was his profession and he was adept at it, but she simply loathed the thought of having somebody she had just met see right through her; it frightened her.

"There's no cure for life, Hange," she said. "And by the way, what the fuck were you thinking telling him I'm depressed?" she yelled, softly punching Hange's shoulder.

"Well, aren't you?"

"No!" Venice shrieked. "You know that just slipped my mouth. I didn't actually mean it."

Hange placed her porcelain cup down on its matching saucer before meeting Venice's gaze. "You aren't taking this as seriously as you should be, Venice. What if you get a panic attack while driving and end up hurting yourself? Or worse, Adam?" she rebuked, firing her friend one of her unusual, austere glares.

A remorseful breath filtered past Venice's lips as she propped her left elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. Her fingertips gingerly traced over the rim of her mug as she silently mused on her friend's poignant words.

"Vee, you should go see Erwin; it won't hurt. Tell him about your son; your mom; your husband..."

"What is telling him going to change, Hange?" she asked cynically. "It's hopeless."

"Perhaps nothing, but bottling it in will only end up hurting you. I know those people are your family and mean so much to you, but they are harming you, Vee. You need to start thinking about yourself."

"Yeah, fine, I'll think about it, okay?" Venice lied to hush her friend. "Now, let us enjoy our tea before I need to go back."

"Okay!" Hange jubilantly clasped her hands, an ecstatic beam spreading across her face, and Venice couldn’t help but chuckle at her ingenuous demeanor.

And as the distressed brunette averted her gaze back to the comforting sky that’d begun to lose its mesmeric, crepuscular tinge to a darker sea of blues, a wave of guilt washed over her consciousness. But despite the whirlwind of thoughts incessantly spiraling inside her head, the resolution that therapy wouldn’t be of any help to her remained paramount, and her decision to never visit Dr. Smith again adamant.

**~**

"Hello, honey," Venice chirped as her son, Adam, climbed into the car. Leaning towards him, she planted a soft peck on his cheek.

As usual, Venice’s greeting went unreturned as her son worked on buckling himself in silence, but she had learned to shrug it off a long time ago. After all, the boy was only twelve and was going through '_that phase'_ as Hange liked to refer to it. Dr. Smith had also confirmed that this was only a transitional period in her son’s life, and she had resolved to try her best and not take his rash behavior to heart.

"How was school today?" Venice struck up as she started the engine and began driving.

"Fine," Adam mumbled as he leaned forward and turned the radio’s volume up, making it impossible for his mother to converse with him.

Acting just as childish, Venice turned the music down before continuing, "We're going to see your grandma."

"Oh, shit," he cursed inaudibly.

"Language, young man!" Venice berated, hurling him a deadly glare.

"But I don't want to. I just want to go home," he whined, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest as a disgruntled pout twisted his youthful traits.

"So you can spend the rest of the day in front of that gaming console?"

"Yeah, it's better than going to see your mother."

"Keep it up, and you'll be grounded."

Adam let out an exasperated breath and turned the volume back up before darting his head to stare out the window. An excruciating pain coursed through her chest, but Venice managed to keep her unfazed mask on. Her son was the person she loved the most in this world and would do anything for—acting as if his coldness wasn't disturbing her proved to be a harder task than she’d envisioned.

Once in front of her mother's, Venice fetched a box of pastries she had bought earlier from the backseat and sauntered to the front door with her son by her side. After pressing the doorbell, she looked down momentarily, only to find Adam's face contorted in a grimace as his small arms were still tautly folded over his torso.

"Lose that face! Don't let her think I forced you to come," she ordered.

"But that's exactly the case," he muttered.

"Well, fake it!" she snapped.

"Oh, it's just you," a tone that oozed palpable apathy piped in, and the pair gazed up just in time to watch Venice’s mother’s petite form spin around and retreat inside, leaving the door open.

With a deep breath, Venice pushed the door further, allowing her son to go in first. As Adam strolled past his mother, he flung her the 'I told you' look and she simply rolled her eyes at him.

The lack of enthusiasm over this little visit could be spotted on Venice’s traits as well, but the young woman had no choice. After all, that woman was her mother and didn't have much family left, and as her daughter, she felt obliged to check on her from time to time.

"Hey, mom! Were you expecting somebody else?" Venice asked as she cruised past the living area to the dining table, placing the box of patisserie atop it.

"No, but I didn't think it'd be you," her mother shouted from the kitchen.

_Great, here we go again._

Venice spun around to face Adam who was already in the living room, fumbling with the remote to turn the TV on. "Go greet your grandma," she ordered.

Victoria emerged from the kitchen and her grandson sluggishly ambled to hug her. "Oh, I didn't see you, young man," she said, swaddling him in her arms. "My favorite grandson." She smiled as she pinched his cheeks.

"Grandma, I'm your only grandson," Adam retorted as he skeptically raised a brow, his quip earning a vivacious chuckle from his mother who stood a few steps away, witnessing the scene unfold.

Adam ran back to lounge on the couch while the daughter and mother took seats opposite one another at the dining table.

"So, how've you been?" Venice asked as she crossed her arms over the table, her fingertips gently tapping against its wooden surface.

"Can't complain. It's not like there's anyone to listen to my rambling anyway."

_Stay calm Venice; talk to her for a bit and then leave._

Venice and her mother had never gotten along well. Their trains of thoughts never departing in the same directions, the pair had never agreed on anything. Either overcritical or unresponsive, Victoria had never taken the time to listen to her daughter or made an effort to understand her, ripening her daughter’s ingrained feelings of inadequacy.

Growing up, and with the assumption that her mother never loved her enough to care deep-rooted into her marbles, Venice had always envied the way her girlfriends were cherished by their mothers. She envied how they were their best friends and confidants, whereas she couldn't maintain a conversation with her own for longer than a few minutes without it unleashing into utter havoc.

In a way, Venice had blamed herself. She believed that she wasn't good enough, and her mother’s contrasting treatment towards her younger sister, Isabella, only ripened her ingrained feelings of inadequacy. Victoria had been to her everything that she wasn't to Venice, the dreadful disparity causing her to become estranged from her sister.

"Doesn't Bella come by?"

"Sometimes, but she calls every day. She's busy with work."

"Yeah..." Venice mumbled, looking away.

Deep down, Venice knew that her sister wasn't to blame; it was all her mother's fault. But the resentment kindling within her was inexorable as her sister was a constant reminder of everything she had failed to become, or rather, was impeded from becoming.

"I met Jessica the other day, and she told me you haven't been attending your yoga classes."

"Argh, please," Victoria said, dismissively waving her hand in front of her face. "The women there won't shut up."

"What do you care about them? You go, mom; you can't keep locking yourself in here. Remember how you wanted to do so many things when dad was alive but couldn't? Well, now is your chance."

"Ah, your father..." Victoria mused as she fetched an embroidered handkerchief out of the pocket of her apron and tenderly began dabbing the corners of her glossy eyes.

Venice ran her hands over her face before pinching the bridge of her nose, a drained sigh filtering past her lips.

"If only he were still here," Victoria croaked.

_What a load of bullshit!_

"Weren't you the one to always wish for him to die because he wouldn't let you do what you wanted?" Venice curtly spat, causing her mother's eyes to spread wide.

"Who? Me? How dare you!" she yelled, dramatically slamming her hand over her chest. Shaking her head, she started yelling, "Do you hear this Bill? Is this how we raised our daughter?"

Venice sat stupefied, soundlessly gaping at her mother’s masquerade when she felt tiny and lightly trembling fingers fasten around her wrist.

"Mom, what's going on?" Adam asked, glancing at his hysterical grandmother—his features crumpled in a blend of fear and puzzlement.

Abruptly arising, Venice grabbed her son’s hand and led him back to the living room. "Grandma and I are just talking. Sit here and wait for me, okay? We’ll leave in a bit."

Scurrying back to the dining room, Venice stood before her delirious mother who was still going on with her little act. This episode wasn’t a new occurrence; after her father's death, these manic bouts became more frequent, and her usual retaliation would've been to simply ignore her, leaving her to climb down from her high on her own. But this time around, with her son present, Venice couldn't walk away and abandon her mother in this state.

Carefully placing a hand on her shoulder, Venice stooped down to face her mother before calmly cooing, "Mom, that's enough."

"You just break my heart and then tell me it's enough," Victoria yelled. "Your sister would never say such things."

Venice felt a rush of heat surge across her face; she loathed being compared to her sister. It wasn't fair to her, not when they hadn't received equal treatment and affection from their mother throughout their childhoods.

"That's because you've been the perfect mother to her and only showed your true colors to me."

A loud smack rang around as a blazing imprint was left plastered on Venice’s left cheek from her mother’s sudden slap across her face. The brunette slowly straightened her posture as her cold palm traveled to rest on the thumping side of her face, burning tears pooling at the corners of her eyes as she swallowed the hoarse lump forming in her throat.

"Get out of my house, and don't ever show me your face again," Victoria ordered, her voice stanch and seeping with sheer venom.

Venice quickly wiped the droplets that had spilled on her cheeks and yanked her purse. Hurriedly scampering to the living area, she called her son, "Let's go, Adam."

As the young boy sprung from the couch and joined his mother, he instantly noticed her bloated eyes. "What is wrong, mom?" he asked worriedly.

"Nothing, I—"

"I hope the same happens to you." Her mother's words sliced through, and she swerved to watch her petite silhouette saunter out of the dining area.

Victoria loitered by the room's entrance, and her daughter and grandson simply stared back at her, perplexity weaving their creased frowns.

"When you're old and alone, I hope your son hurts you the same way you hurt me," Victoria finished before turning around and disappearing back inside.

Just as Venice thought that maybe she had gone overboard and sensed a sting of regret prodding her heart for having pushed her mother’s buttons, Victoria proved her wrong as she showed her precisely why they'd never succeeded in maintaining an ordinary and healthy connection.

Venice stood transfixed—mouth ajar, muscles rigid, and heart sinking. The mere thought of her son loathing her the way she did her mother froze her brain and shattered her soul into a million shards. She felt her chest tighten and her breath hitch as the branches of a familiar sentiment began ramifying up her throbbing insides.

The outlines of her surroundings smudged, and Venice’s eyelids batted frantically as she struggled to see past the layer of mist that gradually swept over her vision. Frenziedly flailing her arms backward, she attempted to clutch the backrest of the couch to retain her balance, but she missed it, and in a blink, her benumbed body languidly met the floor with a loud thud.

"Mom!"

Adam's panicked cry was the last sound Venice's ears caught before her brain gave out and all faded to black.


	3. Magic little pills

Propping her elbows on her knees, Venice sat there, covering her face with the palms of her hands.

"So, you've come back. Don't look at it as a defeat."

The brunette heaved a long, frustrated sigh before revealing her countenance for her therapist to see. Leaning against the back of the armchair, her eyes shot daggers at Dr. Smith.

"It's not like I had a choice. Hange dragged me here insisting I needed to deal with my depression," she retorted, the scowl still etched onto her face.

"There's that 'D' word again," Erwin remarked, a faded smile adorning his sharp traits.

Venice raised a brow and questioningly eyed his form up and down as a facetious smirk pulled at her lips. "Yeah, that 'D' word, let's talk about it," she taunted, leaning forward and resting her chin on top of her clasped hands.

A faint, pink hue tainted the blonde's cheeks once he picked up what his brash patient was alluding to, and he promptly cleared his throat, uncomfortably shifting in his seat. "Depression, I meant."

Venice straightened her posture and clucked in disappointment. "You are no fun Doctor." She pouted cheekily.

"Let's focus on why you collapsed again, shall we?" he suggested.

"Do we have to?"

"Yes, I'm afraid. This is serious, Mrs. Williams."

"Call me Venice."

"This is serious, Venice."

Silence reigned over the room as Dr. Smith waited patiently for his patient to start talking.

"It's my mother," she finally mumbled upon realizing that there was no escaping this dreary corner her doctor had trapped her into.

"What about her?"

"I think I hate her," she admitted.

"Hate is a strong word."

"She doesn't like me that much either," Venice said.

"How do you know?"

"Because I have a fucking brain and a pair of eyes," she snapped.

Erwin remained silent, refraining from rebuking her for her minor slip and indulgently awaiting the rest of her elaboration.

Regaining her composure, Venice continued in a calmer tone, "It's her actions; you know. She's always been like that, overly critical of anything I've ever done. She never believed I could make it big and achieve my dreams," she paused, gaze blankly fixated on the window behind Erwin as if her brain was reeling the memories before her eyes. "She also used to tell me that I would never find a husband, and even if I did, that I would be a terrible wife."

"That is an awful thing to say to a daughter."

"You have no idea." Venice looked down as she felt thick, burning droplets welling up in the corners of her eyes. "I remember this one time, I was sixteen I think, I'd cut my hair and you know, I liked how it looked. I felt really beautiful. When I got home, my younger sister came running telling me how nice it was. And then, my mother came out of the kitchen. She looked at me, clicked her tongue, and spun around, disappearing back inside. She didn't say a thing—not a word." A single tear escaped and fell on Venice's cheek. "I'll never forget the look she gave me; I spent the whole night crying."

Dr. Smith leaned forward and pushed a tissue box over the coffee table towards his patient. Venice grabbed one and dried her cheeks.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Dr. Smith said gently. "Your mother had triggered the first panic attack you had, and now you're back because of her. What happened this time?"

The brunette looked down and fumbled nervously with the hem of her skirt, her mother's hurtful words replaying through her mind. "She said some mean things."

"Why did she?"

Venice's brows instantly laced and she hurled her therapist a glare. "What do you mean why? I just told you how she is."

"I'm just wondering is all. I don't know your mother, but usually, people don't go around saying hurtful things for no reason. There needs to be some sort of context to it."

"So, you're saying it was my fault?" she asked, baffled.

"I did not."

"Whose side are you on, huh? I'm the one paying for these fucking sessions you know," she snapped, wrath seeping through her teeth.

"I don't take sides and am not here to tell you what you want to hear, Venice. That is not my job," Erwin calmly stated.

Dr. Smith understood that his words were harsh, but they wouldn't make progress if he didn't hold her accountable for her actions. His patients claimed to be the victims most of the time, but they were only human after all, and sometimes they were culpable too. And it was his duty as a counselor to pinpoint their faults.

Venice knew he was right, and she hated it. His adeptness in countering her arguments and shutting her in a dreary corner where she was forced to confront her actions and emotions coursed lividness through her veins.

She heaved a long sigh before speaking, "Now that my father is dead, he's an angel. When he was alive, nothing. They used to argue all the time. When I was young, countless times I've heard her wish for him to be gone. And that day when I had enough and called out her bluffing, she got all hysterical."

Dr. Smith took a few moments before talking, "Would it hurt you to let her have it her way?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know how old people are; they're like little kids, and you have a son. You have the upper hand here. You're the one in control; you don't live with her anymore and have your own life. And by giving up to your anger and arguing with her, you're only giving her the satisfaction of seeing how weak-willed you are."

"I don't get it really," Venice muttered as she pinched the bridge of her nose and sealed her eyes shut. "And I am not weak-willed," she retorted.

"What I'm saying is if you can avoid unnecessary stress, then you should," Dr. Smith said.

"But she's a hypocrite. I couldn't stop myself; I was done with her drama."

Silence took over the office for a few instants as the pair intensely stared at each other. "Why do you still visit her?"

"What do you mean? She's my mother."

"You admitted to having feelings of hatred towards her and just said that she's a hypocrite."

Venice's eyes broadened in astonishment. "Yes I did, but she's still my mother," she replied.

"I know. But you're a married woman now, you have a son and have built your own life. Why do you still feel obliged to act as her daughter?"

Venice's countenance sprained in confusion. She didn't quite see where her therapist was going with his questions. "Are you suggesting I cut all ties with her?"

"Why haven't you? If she's as bad as you say she is."

Venice parted her lips to answer but no words slipped off her tongue. _Why am I still visiting her?_ Her therapist was right—if her mother was _as_ toxic as she was painting her, why was she still interacting with her? Wouldn't the healthy and rational option have been to put an end to their relationship? But why had she never brought herself to do so?

"After all this time and all she's put you through, aren't you subconsciously still seeking your mother's approval?"

Dr. Smith knew he hit the nail on the head when Venice balked at his inference, defensiveness blanketing her tone. "Bullshit. I don't care what she thinks. I never did."

"Why did you get married?"

"Excuse me? What kind of question is that?" Venice asked in incredulity.

"Did you marry for love?"

"Yes!" she lied. Love had indeed been present when she and John, her husband, got married, but it wasn't what had prompted their vowed liaison. "Look I don't know where you're going with this, but I didn't get married to prove my mother wrong, and I'm not trying—through my visits—to show her how much of a good wife and mother I am. I don't care what she thinks!" Venice said furiously.

"Then why aren't you happy? If this is truly the life you had wished for, why do you feel depressed?"

"I am not depressed for fuck's sake!" Venice shouted before rising to her feet and grabbing her purse. "I'm not talking to you anymore," she muttered and whirled around, heading for the door.

Dr. Smith hauled a breath and arose as well. "Wait, Mrs. Williams," he called just as her hand reached for the doorknob and she swiveled to face him. Strolling to his desk, he leaned forward, grabbed a pen, and started jotting something down. "I'm going to write you a prescription."

"What for?"

"To deal with these feelings of anxiety and anger," he said calmly, eyes still on the paper he was scribbling on. The brunette gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on the handle; she truly felt like slapping that handsome face of his at that moment.

Erwin walked to his patient and stood right before her, his enchanting blue eyes staring directly into her fierce, glinting ones. A rush of hotness simmered up her cheeks at the proximity of their bodies. "Here," he said handing her the piece of paper.

As she reached her hand to snatch it, her fingers brushed briefly against his, only making the pink hue spreading across her cheeks more prominent.

"I'll see you on Friday," Dr. Smith said, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he opened the door for her. Perplexed and flustered, Venice simply gave a single nod before fleeing out of the office.

_What the fuck was that?_

**~**

In the couple of weeks that followed, Venice attended her sessions with Dr. Smith regularly. The Prozac he had prescribed was kicking in, causing her body and mind to feel differently—in a good way. Her thinking had moderately cleared and her stress had receded. She had managed to push all kinds of poisonous and negative thoughts to the back of her mind, urging her adamant brain cells to concentrate solely on the positives.

Standing before the wall-long mirror in her dressing room, Venice's gaze traveled up and down her silhouette as she smiled to herself. It had been a while since she and John had gone out on a romantic date, and tonight, he was taking her out for dinner. A navy-blue, sheath dress that stopped just above her knees wrapped around her form delicately, accentuating her curves to excellence. Her hair and makeup were done, and a pair of nude, high heels and a peach leather YSL clutch were the final sprinkles added to finalize her look.

Venice watched as her husband's shadow appeared behind her in the mirror and his broad arms snaked around her waist. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he left a mild kiss on her bare flesh.

"You look so hot," John mumbled, earning a light chuckle from his zealous wife. In a swift gesture, he whirled her around to face him and buried his face in her neck, nibbling at the sweet spot below her jaw. He knew it drove her crazy.

Venice heaved a breathy sigh. "_Mhm~_ John, stop. We're going to be late," she protested, her hands softly blasting on his shoulders to push him away.

"How about..." He started and she instantly sensed his smirk against her skin. "We—"

"No, John. I want to go out," she cut him off.

The man grunted in displeasure before leaving a quick peck on her lips. "Fine, but I'm having you once we get back. You're gonna regret making me wait all evening," he warned as he playfully pinched her ass.

After a thirty minutes voyage to the city, the couple made it to the fancy restaurant John had made reservations in and the hostess showed them to their table. After deciding on their meals, they ordered and awaited the food while making small conversation. The young lady was in such a lively and good headspace, and it didn't slip unnoticed by her husband.

"You've been in good spirits these last days," he remarked, his brow slightly curving up.

Venice smiled and lowered her eyes to stare at the glass of wine sitting before her. Although John had been aware of the sporadic panic attacks that his wife began suffering from, he had no clue that Hange had referred her to a therapist, and she was pondering whether this was the right time to inform him. The couple's marriage wasn't perfect; they had their fair share of misunderstandings and arguments, but he was still her husband and the father of her child. Not to forget that, technically, he was the one paying for her sessions with Dr. Smith.

Slanting her upper body forward, Venice leaned against the table. "John, there's something I need to tell you," she said.

"Oh?" He mused before he mirrored her actions and locked his eyes with hers. "Okay, tell me."

She shut her eyes shortly and exhaled loudly. "I'm on Prozac," she confessed. "I'm seeing a therapist."

"Really?" he exclaimed promptly. "Baby, that's great."

Her eyes dilated momentarily as she stared at him, bewildered. "You think?" she asked, her tone oozing great astonishment.

"Yes, of course, honey." He reached on the table and held her hand. "I didn't realize you were so unhappy. I'm sorry," he said with a saddened smile.

Venice looked down at their entwined fingers. "Yeah... I didn't know too..."

"I know how much your relationship with your mother has affected you. And even our marriage, you know, isn't without ups and downs. But I really think talking to _her_ would help."

"Who?" Venice asked as her eyes shot up.

"Your therapist."

_Oh shit!_ A nervous chuckle escaped her mouth and she slipped her hand out of his, grasping her wine glass. "Yeah, I'm sure it would," she mumbled, looking away from him and sipping at her drink.

Venice detested lying to her husband and felt a slight pang of guilt for not clearing his misunderstanding immediately. But she knew he would go berserk and make a scene if she were to tell him that her therapist was, in fact, a '_he_'. Therefore, she reckoned it would be better to keep that information to herself for the time being.

She was intending to quit therapy anyway, so why complicate things? Those magic little pills Dr. Smith gave her were working like wonders and she figured there wasn't much else he could do for her that the medication hadn't already done.

**~**

"I feel pretty good," Venice said, a sincere grin enhancing her face as she comfortably sloped back in her seat, crossing her legs.

"That's great," Dr. Smith answered with a smile.

"Yeah so..." she began, "I don't know if I'm going to be needing to come back."

"It's not the Prozac," Dr. Smith announced matter-of-factly, the simper never leaving his face.

Venice hastily sat up, a lethal glower sweeping across her eyes. "What do you mean? Why not?"

"You said you were thinking clearer and your husband says you seem to be better?" he asked and the brunette nodded her head in response. "Yeah, it's not the medication," he shook his head. "Prozac takes several weeks to build up effective levels in the blood."

Venice gaped at him, sheer turmoil overlaying her expression. "Well, what is it, then?" she asked.

"Coming here. Talking. Sharing your thoughts..." he said as he crossed his arms over his chest and plunged back in his seat while Venice simply glared at him, sickened and disturbed.

"So, how are things?"

Venice heaved a loud, exasperated sigh as her eyes swerved away to evade the smug look on her therapist's gratified face. _This man is going to be the end of me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful readers, I know there isn't much progress regarding Erwin and Venice's relationship for the time being, but I promise it's coming. I'm just trying to lay out her personality a bit before things eventually go down. 😋
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! xoxo


	4. Your therapist called...

Time flew by, and with each passing week, Venice witnessed her monotonous existence alter gradually.

Her days were running smoothly, much to her surprise, and no panic attacks had dared disturb the bliss her lifestyle finally basked in. Thanks to her therapist's valuable input, and of course, the medication, Venice had learned to cope with the demons that were lurking around and within her.

Finally resolving to expunge the remnants of her relationship with her mother, she had reduced her visits and calls to none and decided not to instigate any form of contact with the older woman. All it ever did to her was shed light on her mental weaknesses. And while she was—in a way—grateful for that, for it allowed her to seek help and ameliorate many aspects of her life, she didn't want to relive the traumatic experiences.

In her household, Venice was earnestly trying to overlook her son's insolence. Comprehending that excessive coddling and cosseting only strayed the young boy away, and to circumvent a repeat of her waned connection with her mother, Venice chose to set her son free, heartily wishing that he would eventually return to her embrace on his own.

Similarly, her relationship with her husband hadn't remained unaffected. Ever since learning about her therapy, Venice perceived John's profusion of devotion and care, both physically and emotionally. His late working hours had considerably diminished as he spent more time with her and Adam at home. The alterations struck their intimate life as well, bringing to their lovemaking sessions the passionate sparkle that had vanished with time and reminding Venice of their first years of dating. The time when their liaison was pure and profound; the time when his arms were her only getaway and salvation from her tumultuous life.

Due to the substantial shifts in his demeanor, Venice began wondering if John's infidelities had ceased, but she'd quickly relinquished her ruminating as she had other thoughts plaguing her mind and besetting her. One, in particular, outweighed the others and stained the clean sheet her mind had become, propelling her brain into spirals of overthinking and stifling the serenity she had finally managed to savor.

Venice was beginning to grow feelings for her therapist.

It was no secret that the aforementioned man was blessed with good looks; from his sturdy, flawlessly molded form to his arcanely consoling, blue eyes, Erwin was carved to perfection. Throughout their sessions, Venice would find herself immersed in the ocean that were his irises, languidly swaying along the waves of its shallows, only to be brought back to reality by his orotund, yet appealing voice reverberating through her ears. Her eyes would lusciously coast up and down his heavenly body as her mind stealthily meandered, woolgathering about all kinds of lewd things she would love to perform on him.

Erwin's divine physique only had so much to do with her falling for him, though; it was his personality that had truly enchanted her. His thoughtful and empathetic nature held Venice's heart captive. The undivided attention he'd grant her during their sessions made her feel like she was the only woman on this earth. To her, their connection was beyond the physical spectrum and bound them on a spiritual level; he discerned her unspoken qualms and continuously urged her to voice them aloud and stand up to them. Around him, she felt valued and wasn't afraid of being judged. She was simply herself: exposed, bare of any insecurities, and proudly flaunting her true and flawed nature.

Fully comprehending the gravity of her growing emotions, Venice draped a veil of denial over her feelings in a desperate attempt to shake the doctor off her head, but to no avail. Erwin haunted her thoughts and his perpetual preying on her mind knew no restrictions, chasing her even to the confines of her intimate life. When making love to her husband, Venice would latch her eyes and lose herself in a licentious realm of fantasy where the blonde's form would levitate above hers, making her writhe in pleasure and sending her body into uncontrollable frenzies. The first time this had occurred, Venice felt frightfully nonplused at the sight of the man lying beside her after clawing down from her thrill, remorse instantly swamping her soul. And from that point on, she shunned her husband's advances; from petty excuses of fatigue and menstruations to faking sleep. The brunette dodged him completely for the predicament was simply too overpowering.

Amid her sexual frustration, Venice began questioning therapy. She pondered skipping sessions in hopes of allaying her infatuation, but every time, her feet would haul her to his restful sanctuary without her brain's consent as the heartfelt desire to see and be around him would constantly prove too grand.

To her dismay, Venice had to suffer in silence for she had nobody to confide in. She couldn't possibly broach the matter with Erwin and it was out of the question to tell Hange; she would tease her about it for the rest of her days. Likewise, her sister wasn't an option; the pair had been estranged for years now and would only converse scarcely when they'd occasionally meet at their mother's.

Furthermore, Venice was a wife and a mother, which complicated the situation substantially. Emotional infidelity—albeit unrequited—wasn't something to intrepidly divulge. Consequently, all Venice could do was push the thought to the back of her mind, praying that repudiation would somehow allay her infatuation.

**~**

Digging the keys out of her purse, Venice unlocked the front door and stepped inside, Adam ambling closely behind. After picking him up from school, they were back home for lunch before she would have to leave later in the afternoon for her session with Dr. Smith.

John's sitting form at the dining table came into their view as soon as they set foot in the kitchen.

"Oh, hi! What are you doing here?" Venice asked, slightly surprised. Her husband was never home around this time.

"Were you expecting someone else?" he retorted, blasting her a lethal glare. The husband's abrupt animosity wriggled Venice's spirited features in vexation.

"Hey, dad!" Adam hailed jovially as he lunged into his father's arms.

"Hi, big man," John greeted, returning his son's embrace. "Go to your room, okay? Mommy and I need to talk," he ordered and the boy peaceably obliged, hastily darting up the stairs.

John swiveled his head to meet the befuddled gaze of his wife—an austere mantle blanketing his countenance.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. "It's been a while since you last had lunch here."

"I thought I would today."

Venice nodded before swirling and proceeding with gathering the ingredients, instinctively shifting between the cabinets, the fridge, and the sink.

John stood up and walked to loiter behind the counter, intently scrutinizing the gracefully choreographed routine of his spouse. Stooping forward, he clasped his hands atop the glacial marble and asked, "How's therapy?"

Venice swallowed thickly, her feet almost faltering. "Uhm... good. My therapist thinks I'm making progress. I have an appointment at five," she said, her back facing him as she rummaged through the refrigerator.

"Does _she_, now?"

Despite the apprehension wracking her insides, Venice twirled around and smiled innocently. A resonant hum gushed from her throat as she scurried to the sink to rinse the vegetables she had fetched.

"_She _called."

Venice's muscles tautened.

"_She_ was sick and wanted to reschedule," John said and the brunette remained fixed to her spot, incapable of any movement.

"_Erwin, _huh?"

As John pushed himself up and rounded the counter, Venice could hardly make out the pattering of his nearing footsteps over the thunderous hammering of her heart. She put the items in her hand down and slowly swung around to face her enraged husband.

"John, I can explain—"

"What the fuck are you gonna explain?" he yelled and she reflexively flinched backward, her back colliding with the sharp-edged countertop.

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you."

"And you thought it was a good idea to lie to me? Why the fuck would you do that?"

"When I told you I was seeing a therapist you directly assumed it was a woman, and I didn't get another chance to tell you."

"Why would you keep that from me?" John shouted, outraged. "Why would you hide it unless something was going on?"

Venice's eyes spread wide, wrath smearing her vision with blood. "What the fuck are you trying to say?" she yelled—fists tightly wadded and jaws rigidly clenched.

"You know exactly what I'm fucking saying," he spat, taking one last stride to tower above her. "Is this why you've been so cold lately? You were getting laid somewhere else?"

"Oh, fuck you!"

"What? It's only logical. You thought I didn't see through your lame excuses? Who gets two periods in one month for fuck's sake!" he yelled.

"Just because you go screwing around, don't think everybody's like you," Venice retaliated.

"Shut up!"

"No, you shut up! You think I don't know? Lying about working late when you're in hotels banging every living thing with an ass and a pair of boobs that crosses you."

John's eyes swelled with astonishment. "I'm not like that anymore; I've been faithful to you," he asserted through gritted teeth.

"It's all there in my face John. Just because I don't talk about it doesn't mean I don't see it."

"Venice," John called in a calmer, yet authoritative tone. "You know I've changed."

"You've got some balls you know," Venice seethed after a fleeting interval of venomous glowering. "Asking me not to lie when that's exactly what you're doing right now, and do all the fucking time."

Heaving a shaky sigh, John bent forward and placed his hands on the countertop, boxing Venice between his arms. "Enough," he muttered angrily, drooping his face closer to hers. "This isn't about me Venice"—he closed his eyes momentarily and inhaled deeply—"are you fucking him?"

A precarious chuckle fled past Venice's lips as she retained the tears welling in her eyes from cascading down her cheeks. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Just answer me, goddamnit!"

"I can't believe you!" Slamming her hands against his chest, Venice shoved John away and strode past him. Covering her face, she wept into her trembling palms as the brooks she had been impeding surged down.

As his wife sniffled just a few steps away with her back facing him, John looked down at his clenched fists and slowly slackened his grip as a different expression whelmed his features. It wasn't one of resentment or fury, but rather a look of fright and consternation.

"Do you have feelings for him?" he asked, a palpable whiff of worry in his voice.

Without answering, Venice stormed out, striding up the stairs to lock herself in her bedroom. Her husband saw right through her—effortlessly unearthing the feelings she'd been battling to dismiss. _He knew her too well._

After their marriage, Venice had always believed that the affairs John upheld were merely passing flings and that, emotionally, she was his only one, thus choosing to shut her eyes to his adultery. As pathetic and pitiable as it might sound, that very thought was the pillar she had leaned against once she realized that her husband's nature was irrevocable. It reassured her and was one of the reasons why she hadn't put an end to their marriage yet. Being his wife and the mother of his child, she had the upper hand and reckoned that as long as he loved her, he would always fly back to her nest no matter how far his lascivious wings fluttered.

Venice being the first to emotionally detach herself from their relationship smacked both parties in the face—hard. John had been so oblivious, thinking that providing and fucking would be sufficient to keep other men at bay. It wasn't until he knew about Venice's therapy that he realized how unfulfilled and unhappy she was and that the care she craved was much more profound than the shallow one he had been offering.

It was only natural for Venice to fall for the first man that would fill in the gaps and holes her husband had neglected open.

John had nobody to blame but himself, and he knew it.


	5. Nothing like you

Tightening his tie around his neck, Erwin slid the palms of his hands over his chest, brushing himself off and ridding his shirt from any visible wrinkles.

Venice should be there any minute now, and the man wanted to look pristine. The woman that had initially been referred to him by his friend, Hange, turned out to be quite the case and he surprisingly found himself anticipating their sessions. Unlike with the rest of his patients, the time spent with Venice was anything but dull and he never caught himself glancing at his watch to count the seconds to dismiss her.

Peering at the clock hanging on the wooden wall of his office, a loud screech resounded as the therapist pushed his leather chair backward rose from his leather chair. Striding to the door, he held the knob and pulled at it before stepping outside, an ingenuous smile instantly gracing his striking features as soon as his sight landed on _her_. Reclining on the couch, Venice's eyes were darted down, absentmindedly gaping at her folded hands on her lap.

"Mrs. Williams."

Venice looked up when Erwin's sonorous voice prodded her ears, a feeble smile stretching her ghastly features. One of Erwin's brows promptly arched up when Venice languidly stood up and began her trek towards his office. _Something's up with her_.

The doctor's assumptions about his patient's alarming condition were further ascertained when he saw her attire. She wore a light-blue button-up, some parts of its hem erratically tucked into the pair of tight jeans sheathing her legs, and white trainers. A casual, everyday getup that didn't resemble anything she had ever worn to their previous sessions and which—for a woman such as herself—only screamed trouble.

The pair took their usual seats. Venice kept her sight glued to the floor, her legs drumming against its wooden surface as her fingers fiddled with the strap of her handbag. Clearing his throat, Erwin decided to break the silence.

"How are things?"

Venice's brown irises darted up to link with the blue, consoling ones of the man seated across from her—the one she, possibly, harbored feelings for.

Ever since her heated argument with her husband a few days prior, Venice found herself torn between her head and heart, between reason and sentiment. It wasn't right to be feeling this way, and she'd pondered skipping her session altogether to pacify fire the sinful flame that the presence of the blonde kindled within her. But, ultimately, Venice yielded to her craves as the voracious desire to see him towered over any moralities she possessed.

Venice let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut as if to quash the thunderstorm whirring inside her head.

"What's the matter?" Dr. Smith asked.

"It's my husband. We fight a lot."

"Not long ago you told me things got better? What happened?"

"He's jealous of you," she admitted.

Erwin's serene expression twisted in bemusement. "Is that simply a presumption of yours or did you discuss it with him?"

"Oh, we did discuss it," she quipped, tone oozing sass. "You see; he didn't know you were a _man_. So, it an interesting discussion when he found out."

"Why did it take you so long to tell him?" Erwin asked after a few moments of silence.

"I didn't tell him"—she pointed to her doctor with her index finger—"you did when you called to reschedule the appointment."

Erwin's mouth sealed in a firm line. "I apologize for that; I didn't have your personal phone number," he said, his soft tone and apologetic gaze sending a chill down her spine.

Venice slumped her shoulders and dropped the grimace that had subliminally overlapped her sharp traits, losing herself in his mystical eyes. _How can this man be so perfect?_

"Don't worry about it." Venice flapped her hand dismissively before looking away. She made sure not to maintain eye contact with Erwin for longer than necessary; he could effortlessly see through her, and a prolonged staring contest would indisputably give her away.

"Then what is the matter?"

"I think it's the medication," she said.

"Is there a problem? You said you were feeling good."

"It has like a side-effect. I think..." she mumbled.

"That's normal. What is it?"

"Well"—she shifted in her seat uncomfortably, averting her gaze to stare at the wall behind Erwin—"it's a touchy matter."

"Is it sexual?" Erwin asked nonchalantly, causing her face to flush crimson as she nodded bashfully.

The therapist was used to these kinds of conversations; they were part and parcel of his profession. There were no taboos within these restricted walls; his office was a sanctuary, and all matters that would help his patients in any way were broached without reluctance. That being said, not all of his clients were open to discuss their sex lives so airily and willingly, but he still always inquired about it and tested the waters to see if they'd ride along.

"That can happen. Can you be more specific?"

"What are you a sex therapist now?" Venice retorted defensively, and a split second later, lowered her head in regret, mentally berating herself for her uncontainable wrath.

The brunette still had ways to go when it came to her anger management issues; her temper could snap faster than lightning on a stormy night.

Erwin chuckled deeply, lifting his hands in front of him apologetically, and Venice stared at him, dumbfounded, as his serene laugh took her by surprise. He was a perfection incarnate and the slightest movement from him tugged at her heartstrings mercilessly. _How can this man be so endearing?_

Snapping out of her trance, Venice apologized hurriedly, "I—I'm sorry, it's just frustrating... How long is it gonna last?"

"It depends; it's different from one person to another. Bodies react differently to medication," he explained.

Venice bobbed her head up and down in understanding before tumbling into the realm of her thoughts once again. She'd brushed her sexual frustration off as a medication byproduct, but what if that wasn't the case? Furthermore, why was Erwin the one blowing in and ruffling her most intimate times and not any other man?

"I don't even think it's because of the medication," she conceded.

A gleam of curiosity flared across Erwin's face. "Then what do you think it is?"

"My husband," Venice began, "I feel like I don't like him anymore. I'm no longer attracted to him," she replied in a low, but steady tone.

Her eyes were barren, blankly staring at the ground, as if voicing the thought that had been idling in the back of her mind aloud had clanked something deep within her. She was appalled to have even uttered these words, but they were true. John hadn't had any effect on her for so long, even before therapy. His presence, his words, and his touch were no longer capable of rustling anything within her.  
Dr. Smith simply watched in silence, giving his patient enough time to pour her heart out.

"I mean; that man used to drive me crazy, but now... I look at him, and it's just—he's not there anymore; the man I fell for. He makes me feel nothing. I don't know if it's him or me..." she trailed off, letting her head fall limply, tendrils of guilt vining up her heart and excruciatingly wringing it.

"Did you talk to him about it?"

"What is there to talk about? What can I say?" she asked.

"What you just told me. Maybe there subtle things he's doing that are turning you off."

Venice dug her teeth in her bottom lip and shook her head. "No, that is not the issue," she said and Erwin remained quiet. "I don't love him anymore. Would you tell your partner something like that?"

"This is about you, Mrs. Williams," Dr. Smith simply said after a few minutes of reflection.

Venice clicked her tongue irately at his professionalism; she truly loathed his rectitude at times.

"Well, it's not like telling him would change anything anyway. I mean; we're married, that would only complicate things. But it's just—he's just, you know... He's different." She paused, locking her gaze with her doctor's perplexed one before whispering, "He's nothing like you."

Dr. Smith felt the tips of his ears ignite in blazes and his heart faltered, almost skipping a beat. Poised and composed, he remained unfazed on the surface as intense apprehension and trepidation ravaged his insides. He knew that this conversation would take a bad turn, but he couldn't refrain himself. He was well aware that going with his patient's wind was anything but ethical, but he was only human after all, and his self-indulgence and inquisitiveness got the best of him.

"How like me?" Erwin asked.

Upon hearing his question, Venice deactivated her rational filter and let go of all sense of reason taming her as she simply allowed her next words to flow out of her mouth, careless about the ramifications of her declarations. It was like she was high on some substance that clouded her judgment—she could no longer see or think clearly.

"I mean, not only you are good looking, but you're gentle, tender, and caring..."

Before Erwin had any time to react to her words, Venice rose to her feet and ambled around the small coffee table, over to him. Muscles rigid, the thunderstruck doctor followed as Venice drew closer and closer until her delineated silhouette towered over him. Stooping forward, she placed a hand on his defined jaw, holding his head in place before she closed the gap between their faces, slamming her lips on his. Erwin's eyes spread wide as his heart pulse accelerated; this was nothing like the turn of events he'd dreaded when he asked her that question. What Venice did was much more impetuous and reckless than anything he could've ever visualized.

As pleasant as her plump lips felt against his slightly cracked ones, Erwin knew he couldn't allow this moment to linger any longer. He understood better than to succumb to his patient's misconduct; not only was it unprofessional on his part, but playing along would only rack her with confusion.

Clasping her shoulders, Dr. Smith gently pushed Venice away from him. "Venice..." he cooed, and she stepped backward, permitting him to stand up and recoup the height lead. "I'm afraid we have to stop now," he said looking down at her flushed countenance.

Venice let her head fall—strands of brown hair dangling over her brows and partially curtaining her mortified eyes. "Okay..." she murmured in a barely audible voice, face still down, not daring to meet the awaiting gaze of Erwin.

"Till Friday. Okay?" he asked, tilting his head narrowly in a failed attempt to catch a glimpse of her gaze.

Venice thrust her head forward in a single nod before spinning on her heel, picking up her purse, and storming out of the office. Erwin heaved a long breath as he tailed the ghost of her vanished outline, his fingers raking through his blonde locks. _What the fuck was that?_


	6. hide and seek

"You did what?!"

"Shh~" Venice hopped from her seat and slammed the palm of her hand over her crazed friend's mouth. She knew it wasn't a good idea to tell Hange, but it had already been over a week since, and she felt as though her mind would erupt if she kept it to herself. Her brain was struck with a whirlwind of thoughts; her overthinking almost driving her to the edge. She needed to talk to someone, other than Erwin, about what had happened. "Shut up Hange! Someone might hear!"

"No one's home stop being paranoid!" She swatted her friend's hand away. "But I can't believe this! What were you thinking?"

"I don't know... My body moved on its own, I had no control over it!"

"So, you like him?"

"Maybe... I don't know really."

Despite being certain about her feelings towards her therapist, Venice couldn't divulge it just yet. She feared Hange wouldn't understand, and dreaded the idea of being on the receiving end of a negative response from the only person she deemed trustworthy enough to confide in. It had only been a little over two months since she had first met the man after all, and even though she believed her emotions were more than a mere attraction or infatuation, things did seem a bit rushed.

"Of course, you do. You wouldn't have jumped on him otherwise," she said. "Did he kiss back?"

"No... he pushed me away..." Venice said with a faint smile as she remembered how the sheer feeling of her lips on his made her heart flutter and Hange simply looked at her with a saddened expression.

Although she was disappointed that he had brought an end to their kiss, Venice wasn't surprised. He was at his job and it was only natural for him to act that way. How he would've reacted hadn't they been in his office, during her session? Oh, how she wished to know the answer to that!

"I don't know what to do Hange. I'm going crazy! I'm a married woman for god's sake!" she exclaimed before propping her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands.

"So what? Your husband does it all the time."

"It's not John I'm worried about, dumbass! It's Erwin. What will he think of me?"

"I know Erwin, he won't think any less of you, don't worry. He probably knows it just happened in the heat of the moment," Hange said while smiling reassuringly at her friend. "How did it happen anyway?"

Venice took a deep breath, pinning her gaze to the floor and proceeded to explain to her friend how she ended up kissing her therapist. As she listened, Hange was biting the inside of her cheek to muffle her cackles.

Once she was finished, Venice gazed up. "What is it?" she retorted with a scowl.

Hange cracked and burst out in a fit of hysterical laughter. "I'm sorry... I'm just picturing it... Poor Erwin!" she said wiping her eyes and Venice simply rolled her eyes at her. "Isn't it ironic though, the moment John starts doubting you, you go on and do it."

"It was just a kiss, Hange, barely!" Venice disputed.

"Yeah but still, the Vee I know would never even dare look at another man!" Hange said, and silence settled in the room.

Venice had always been faithful to her husband; he was truly her only man. Having met when she was eighteen, the woman had never been with another man since. The fact that she didn't feel the slightest tad of guilt over her kiss with the therapist only sealed any doubts she previously had about her feelings.

_She no longer loved him._ And her feelings for Erwin had nothing to do with it, both matters were separate. In fact, her falling out of love with John happened a long time ago, she simply had no reason to linger on the thought long enough—or for it to cross her mind in the first place—to realize it. Her therapist simply helped shed light on the existing void in her heart—by filling it himself.

"Vee?"

"Hm?"

"You know you can tell me anything right?"

Venice let out a long breath and leaned back until her head fell on the backrest of the couch. "I- I think I love him... I know it's silly; I just met him and I practically know nothing about him. But it's just- the way he makes me feel you know. Around him, I'm just _me_. I'm not afraid to let my guard down and lay it all out in the open." She paused for a moment before chuckling deeply. "But then again, he's a therapist, aren't they all supposed to make you feel that way?" She turned to meet the watchful gaze of her friend with a sad smile.

Hange simply smiled back. She knew that those feelings weren't probably what Venice thought they were, but it wasn't her place to question them. "You should talk to him about it."

"No way! I'm never even going back."

"Why not?"

"I'm embarrassed, I can't face him!"

"Are you really embarrassed or are you avoiding something else?" Hange asked.

Venice arched an eyebrow up. "What do you mean?"

"Telling him would mean knowing what he thinks and feels about all of this too."

_Shit, I haven't thought about that! _All this time, and while being preoccupied with her feelings of love and embarrassment, Venice hadn't stopped to think about _him_. Sudden feelings of anxiety sunk in and thoughts of rejection began plaguing her mind. _What if he doesn't feel the same? I'm not sure I can handle it! But even if he did, I'm his patient and a married woman, nothing could ever happen._

"All the more reason not to see him," she said.

"No, I'm serious, you should—"

Hange was cut off by the doorbell. She grabbed her phone and checked the time.

"That's probably Moblit, I should get going."

"No, stay, it's still early," she said as she got up and walked out of the living room to get the door. Venice sunk back in her seat and stared blankly at the ceiling, her mind drowning further as the puddle of her qualms overflowed with the freshly added thoughts of anxiousness and fear of rejection.

"HEY, ERWIN!"

The brunette was brought back to earth as her friend's lively scream echoed past the hall to the living area making her bounce from her place. Whipping her head in the direction from where the muffled voices of several men could be heard, her orbs spread wide and her heart throbbed violently against her ribcage. _Shit! Shit! Shit!_

Venice stood up and spun around in her spot; flustered, nervousness flooding out of every pore of her trembling body. _What should I do?_

"COME IN! LET'S SIT IN THE LIVING ROOM!"

"Why the fuck are you shouting shitty-glasses?"

As their voices drew closer to where she was still standing—frozen, Venice's brain functions finally kicked in and she grabbed her purse and stormed out of the room. Running up the stairs—her speed rivaling that of light—she made a sharp turn to her left and took shelter in the guest bathroom, making sure to lock the door after her.

Hange entered the empty living room with her husband and their two friends, Erwin and Levi, following close behind. The group scattered around taking their seats on the couches. "Is Venice here?" Moblit asked.

Hange's eyes immediately fell on Erwin and he cocked an eyebrow up at her. "How do you know?" she asked.

"Saw her car outside."

"Yeah, she's upstairs."

Erwin simply looked back at Hange, holding his poker face intact. His patient had skipped her last session and he wasn't expecting to see her again so soon given how their last encounter ended. He knew she probably felt abashed and needed some time before showing up for her sessions again—if she had any intentions of going back at all.

"Who's she?" Levi asked.

"Hange's friend. Her husband is a client," Moblit explained and the raven-haired man simply nodded.

"I'll go see where she is." Hange stood up and left the room.

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub—head down, arms propped on her fidgeting knees and hands sunk deep in her locks—Venice thought she was on the brink of collapsing again. Her breath was hitching drastically and her rib cage tightened around her heart; rendering the simple action of respiration challenging. _Shit! Not now!_

There was faint knocking on the door, and it took Venice's brain a few seconds to register the sounds amid the haziness clouding her thinking. She looked up and pushed her body to stand before gripping the counter for support as she waddled her way to the door.

"Venice, it's me!" Hange whispered loudly.

Unlocking the door quietly, Venice opened it and pushed it away enough to let her in. Hange slipped inside quickly before slamming it shut. "Where the fuck—" she paused as her gaze fell on her friend's pallid features. "Are you okay?"

Venice nodded before shifting to the sink. She turned the faucet on and splashed her face with cold water—the chilly liquid instantly bringing back life to her flesh and she breathed slowly, in and out, trying to regain her composure.

As her breathing steadied and the dizziness started to fade away, she turned to face Hange. "What the fuck is Erwin doing here?" she snapped.

"They came with Moblit. I swear I had no idea."

"Why didn't he fucking tell you!"

"Why would he? They come over all the time." Venice simply sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Come on let's go."

"What? Like fuck I'm getting out of here!"

"They know you're here!" Venice's eyes grew so wide Hange thought they would pop out of her skull. "Your car's parked right outside, idiot!"

"Shit!" she cursed under her breath. "I can't Hange, I can't, I'm not ready! What if he asks about what I did or tells me what he's feeling or—"

"He won't, that's supposed to be discussed during official working hours. He knows his job," Hange interrupted her friend's rambling. "And you can't keep avoiding him forever, sooner or later you're gonna need to face him, for your own good." She walked to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, the Vee I know wouldn't get all worked up over a man! No matter how handsome he is." She nudged the brunette's arm playfully earning a weak smile from her.

Venice nodded slowly and Hange walked back to the door. With a hand on the handle, she looked back awaiting her friend's go-ahead to open it.

"How do I look?"

"Not your best hair day," Hange answered frankly.

Venice checked herself in the mirror and almost jumped back in horror. Ever since locking herself in the bathroom, she had been tugging at her locks in nervousness and now they looked like a mop—disheveled strands sticking up in every direction. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair flattening it, before throwing her head down and slightly ruffling it to give it some volume.

"You're beautiful Vee, come on!" Hange praised before swinging the door open.

_Just act cool, it was just a quick kiss. It's just a man. It's just my therapist. It's just Erwin._

Venice followed close behind Hange; her eyes fixed on the brunette's signature ponytail and watched as it danced with every step she made. As soon as they set foot in the room, her field of vision was cleared from her friend's brown tresses, and her eyes quickly scanned around the space, immediately locking with the sapphire ones of Erwin.

She didn't think it was physically possible for her heart to beat harder than it did earlier, but she was wrong; it was nothing compared to the hammering she felt against her chest when their eyes met. Stealing a glance at his body, he looked as handsome as ever, and the casual outfit he sported was nothing short of breathtaking. She was soon entrapped in his invisible bubble, floating into another dimension—not bound by time or place.

Venice was briskly pulled down when she felt a nudge on her left arm and she quickly averted her gaze, a deep blush tinting her cheeks.

"This is Levi," Hange introduced, gesturing to a short, handsome man with jet-black hair.

Venice rapidly looked around to see two other men standing to his right—one being Moblit. "Nice to meet you," she said bashfully as she met the piercing stare of Levi and gave him a firm handshake.

"The rest you're already familiar with," Hange said before letting her body fall numbly on the couch with a loud sigh. Dealing with her friend's drama was truly exhausting.

Moving to the left, Venice gave Moblit a quick side hug, before stepping further and standing before Erwin, timidly trailing her eyes up his chiseled chest until their gazes locked. "Hey."

"Hi," she whispered, before shaking hands with him and rapidly stepping backward and turning to face Hange. All three men and Venice stood still, while her friend was collapsed on the sofa, teasingly poking the back of her husband's thigh with her foot.

"Okay, we're gonna let you finish your little catch-up," Moblit said with a smile. "Let's go to my office." He beckoned the two men to follow him.

"No, you can stay here, I was just leaving anyway," Venice quickly uttered as she hung her handbag over her shoulder.

"Why? Stay!" Hange whined, instantly earning a death glare from the standing woman. "Okay, then Erwin will walk you out."

Venice's scowl intensified.

"Why?" Levi interjected in his usual monotonous tone.

Hange stood and grabbed her husband and Levi by the arm. "Because I need to talk to you two," she said as she hauled both men towards Moblit's office. "Bye, Vee. Talk to you later!"

"I don't have time for your bullshit Four-eyes!"

Venice turned around—her back now facing Erwin—as her eyes followed the ghost of her friend's silhouette—her feet boiling up in rage and emitting heat throughout the entirety of her slightly quivering body.

Erwin cleared his throat and walked to stand beside her, towering over her. "Let's go," he said.

"There's no need, really."

"It's nothing," he replied nonchalantly, his eyes meeting hers as he waited for her to lead the way.

Venice simply looked up at him shocked. While she felt like a crumbling mess, nervousness taking over her muscles and organs—almost sending her body into another panic attack; he was the complete opposite and looked utterly unfazed. It was unreasonable and selfish of her to assume otherwise, but her kiss not eliciting the slightest of reactions from the composed man cut her deep.

Thick droplets of tears started forming on the corners of her eyes and she briskly averted her gaze, locking it on the tiled floor. _What was I expecting?_

Erwin watched her shaking form, as she stared down, her eyes void and fists tightly clenched. The therapist had strict rules set vis-à-vis interactions with his patients outside of work. Moreover, when it came to Venice, considering their delicate situation. Her kiss crossed his mind—more than he thought it would—and he wanted to talk it out, but refrained himself. They will discuss it next time she showed up to her sessions, the conversation needed to be had between them as _therapist_ and _patient_.

Venice's head rapidly jolted up and she walked out. As she passed him, his eyes glimpsed the fiercest look he had ever seen on her face. She held the doorknob and swayed the door open, not bothering to wait for Erwin to walk her out.

"Why didn't you come?" Erwin asked as he came to halt next to her black Mercedes.

Venice ignored him and held the knob, pulling it to open the door to the driver's seat, but was blocked midway when a large hand pushed it back, slamming it shut.

"I'm talking to you," he said and she trailed her eyes up to look at him irately. "Were you even planning on ever coming back?"

"Why do you care?" she retorted.

"Because you're my patient."

Venice huffed and looked away. "Sure."

Erwin retracted his hand allowing her to swing the door open. “See you in two days."  



	7. transference

Freshly polished and painted fingernails tapped anxiously against the steering wheel as Venice sat in her car, pondering whether she should go inside the building.

Initially, she had resolved to never confront her therapist again. However, their brief encounter at her friend's house opened her eyes to his indifference. He had driven her into a vulnerable state, nearly sending her into another panic attack, all the while he looked down on her, claiming to have her best interests at heart. His coldness flickered something deep within her and her feelings of humiliation and shame were soon supplanted with ones of rage and fury, smearing her vision in red and clouding all sensible senses she possessed.

The futility of avoiding him was the conclusion she reached after two long days of brainstorming; running away counteracted all she had worked on during her previous months of therapy, and she determined to face the music. Besides, fleeing would only ascertain the breadth of impact he had on her, and she couldn't possibly let him believe that he had her under his thumb. _She_ was the one who kissed him, and if anybody should've been shaken by it, it was _him_.

With an encouraging nod, she flicked the handle open and exited her car. With confident strides, she crossed the street and entered the building. Her YSL stilettos clattered against the entrance floor as her hips swayed in a synchronized fashion, catching the attention of every person she passed—a smirk promptly crawling its way to the side of her lips as her makeover proved to have fulfilled its purpose. Visits to the spa, beauty parlor, and the most luxurious shops downtown earlier that day helped craft the look she was pulling, and she walked proudly to flaunt it all to the man holding her heart captive.

Mustering every last tad of courage in her being, Venice pushed the cabinet's door and sauntered in to take her usual seat. Despite the growing bundle of agita in her stomach, outwardly, she oozed confidence and poise.

A few moments later, the wooden doors to her right swung open to reveal the man her heart pulsed for. "Mrs. Williams." His husky voice resonated across the waiting room and she averted her gaze to meet with his.

With a coy smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she approached him. "Doctor," she greeted confidently as she passed him and stepped inside the office.

Although it didn't show on his stern façade, Erwin was bewildered. His patient looked like an entirely different person from the roll of nervousness he had met two days earlier; she appeared rejuvenated.

Each time he believed to have finally grasped her character and discerned what laid underneath her volatile exterior, she proved him wrong. She was a reptile-literally; her outer layers sporadically shifting, and each change of skin exposed a new aspect of her complex nature.

The first forty-five minutes of the session unraveled smoothly and normally, with Venice answering Erwin's typical questions about her health and any occurrences or signs of panic trauma. She filled him in on the developments regarding her husband and son's relationships, but of course, she left out the part where she had almost blacked-out in Hange's bathroom. There was no need to inflate his pride.

Their last session's proceedings weren't brought up by Erwin so far, and despite the brave front she was putting on, deep down, Venice was grateful. She knew her pretense was hanging by a thread and would crumple as soon as they broached the topic. She stole a glimpse at the rose gold Lady-Datejust strapped around her left wrist. _Fifteen minutes to go._

"Before we finish, I'd like to discuss what happened here last week." Dr. Smith's words reached up and pulled her back to earth from the clouds. She uncomfortably shifted in her seat and swallowed the thick lump in her throat.

The hammering of her heart could be heeded from miles away, and she only wished the man sitting opposite her didn't catch it. She placidly crossed one leg over the other and clasped her hands over her knees. Staring directly into his ocean-blue eyes, Venice asked, "Yes?"

Erwin mirrored her actions before leaning back in his seat. "I think you should do the talking."

"Not really, I have nothing to say," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders as her eyes momentarily drifted away to the window behind him.

"Just know that I'm not trying to reproach you in any way, I simply want to know why you did what you did," Erwin said.

Venice was silent; there wasn't much to say. Clarifying her actions would mean confessing her love for the blonde and possibly putting their current relationship on the line. She looked down at her clamped hands and apprehensively fiddled with her engagement ring before spinning it around her finger to hide its teardrop-shaped diamond.

"You know you can tell me anything, that's why we're here."

Looking up, Venice met the soft gaze of her therapist. His enchanting blue eyes were consoling and just like every time she gaped into them, her soul was cradled and got teleported into another dimension. His stare instilled a tide of quietude over her racing mind, dissipating any resentment and wrath she had held for him earlier and luring her to bare her soul. As much as she hated to admit it, she was putty in his hands and had no self-control when it came to him.

Parting her lips to speak, the words lingered on the tip of her tongue as reluctance prevented them from slipping out. Gripping the hem of her skirt in nervousness, she ultimately took the plunge and whispered, "I love you."

Ominous silence filled the room and the growing tension could be cut with a knife. Her heartbeat sped as she slowly hauled her gaze away from her doctor's to lock it on the floor, a mixed look of letdown and sadness taking over her features.

Erwin wasn't taken aback by her words, in fact, it wasn't the first time this had happened. It was very common for his patients to _think_ they had developed feelings for him and confess to him. And he had always known how to handle such situations, but this time around, he was struggling to form his sentences. Venice was no ordinary patient; she still wrangled with her anger issues and, on many occasions, lost her temper at him. Given that she certainly wouldn't like what he was about to tell her, he took additional time to find the right words.

"Okay, firstly I want to thank you for sharing your feelings with me and commend you for your courage. It is a good sign that you're able to feel these things and is a testament to the depth of our relationship. Now, it is very normal for you to feel that way, in fact, most patients—"

"Ah shit," Venice interrupted as she propped her elbows on her knees and plunged her face into the palms of her hands. "That's why I didn't wanna fucking talk about it, I knew you'd give me that crap."

"What crap?"

"You know what I'm talking about," she said slanting back in her chair. Erwin raised his brow, beckoning for her to elaborate further.

"I've looked it up online okay? I know it's called 'transference' and you're gonna tell me that what I'm feeling is a projection of my feelings for my husband on you and all those shitty psychiatric explanations."

"Well, that's what it actually is—"

"No, it is not."

Erwin sighed deeply, he wasn't mistaken in assuming she would be a thorny patient to deal with. "Okay, Venice listen to me—"

"No, you listen to me, Erwin," she intervened before taking a deep breath, "I think about you all the time. I dream about you. Hell, I can't even get excited anymore unless I..." she trailed off, a light shade of pink tinting her cheeks as she pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long, anguished sigh. "Look, I'm not a confused teenage girl; I'm a full-grown woman who's been through and seen a lot. And I may struggle with handling my feelings and take shelter in denial but I've never been mistaken about their nature and claimed them to be what they're not. So, when I say that I love you," she paused for a moment and locked her eyes with his, "it means that I love you," she uttered, almost in a whisper.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she abruptly deflected her gaze and locked it on the silver band around her ring finger. _What the fuck am I doing?_

"I'm sorry..." She grabbed her purse and stood up. "This was a bad idea, I—"

"No, Venice, please." Erwin was quick to follow suit and got up as well. "Sit down please, we need to talk about this."

The brunette hesitated for an instant but still complied, bashfully regaining her position.

Venice's little research confirmed to Erwin that she had already come to terms with her feelings and was beyond the phase of question. And although it would irk her further, he was still obligated to try and open her eyes to their true nature. It was also necessary for, if not dealt with accordingly, her assertions could hinder their therapy and negate the progress they had made.

"First of all, I am not belittling or questioning your feelings, but you need to understand _why_ you think you're feeling that way—"

"I think?"

"Venice, I've been gentle; that's my job. I listen; that's what I do best. I've been an accepting, empathetic man to you because that's what my work calls for. You've made me all of the things you feel are missing in your mother and husband."

Venice simply stared back at him, incensed, as her expression slowly contorted in exasperation. "Did you listen at all to what I just said?" she asked, knitting her brows.

"I did, but I need to make sure we understand each other."

"We do understand each other. You don't love me. There's no need to go by the book and give me that prudent bullshit you recite to your other clients," she blurted out. "You could at least grow a pair of balls and call a spade a—"

"And you could quit being so fucking bullheaded," he said, his tone a pitch higher than he had expected.

Venice's eyes stretched wide and her lips sealed in a firm line. Erwin grunted in frustration before leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes, and sliding a hand through his blonde tresses as he took a deep breath. It was the first time he had lost his composure during working hours and he had the hazardous brunette sitting across from him to thank for that.

Venice was at a loss for words. She discreetly bit back a smile from twitching at her lips; she was so proud to have finally broken through the composed façade of her therapist and elicited a reaction from him. But between her confession and pushing him to his boiling point, she wasn't sure if he would want to see her ever again.

"I apologize for that. I shouldn't have reacted that way," he repented, his stern voice echoing around the office as his sapphire eyes shot daggers at her. Her amusement hastily dissolved at the sight of his expression. She didn't think the irises she had repeatedly found solace within were capable of such lethal stares and it sent a cold shiver down her spine.

"Oh, well," Venice mumbled under her breath as she quickly grasped her purse and rose to her feet, heading for the door. With a hand on the handle, she turned around to look at Erwin. His piercing gaze had scarcely softened as it gradually thawed back to the comforting look she had grown so familiar with. "If you don't want me to come back, it's fine..."

Erwin stood up and dug his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. "No, it's quite the opposite. This is all the result of our progress," he said reassuringly with a smile.

Venice's grip on the doorknob tightened and she gritted her teeth. _You must be fucking kidding me?_

"Fuck you!" she bellowed before storming out of the office.


	8. late night realizations

After fleeing the office in a haste, Venice tunneled her way through the entrance and crossed the street to seek shelter in her car. Once inside, adrenaline rushing through her veins and without a second thought, she stomped on the accelerator and drove off as the engine of her Mercedes roared throughout the streets. Her eyes stung as thick droplets of tears pooled at their corners, shadowing her vision and threatening to stream down her cheeks.

Spotting a Walmart sign ahead, she entered the parking lot and placed her car in the first free spot she came across. Pressing the button to stop the engine, she partly rolled the windows down and inhaled a deep breath of the fresh air that leaked through. Crossing her arms against the steering wheel, she rested her forehead over them and let her soul erupt.

The deluges she had retained during the ride unleashed and her whimpers filled the enclosed space. Her mind was in turmoil as a myriad of qualms plagued her thinking and a plethora of sentiments jammed her being. She couldn’t quite put her finger on which of these feelings weighed heavier on her heart: the remorse for having fallen for a man while married to another, the indignity for having confessed to him, or the dejection for getting rejected.

_When did it all go downhill?_

Therapy seemed to regenerate her in its start, but now it only appeared to work against her, drowning her further in muddiness and turning her world upside down. Perhaps it would have been better if she had never dug her emotions up and stayed cramped inside the blissful fortress of denial she had built around herself.

Hyperventilating now, she brought her head up, haziness draping her eyesight as her chest heaved up and down in a bid to let some oxygen filter through her nostrils and fill her lungs. In and out, she took long breaths that soothed her pounding heart and hectic respiration just enough to quell the panic attack that was menacing to conquer her enfeebled form.

Reaching her hand to her purse and rummaging through it, she took out her bottle of Prozac and popped a pill into her mouth followed by a gulp of water from the bottle in her car. Sloping back in her seat, she let her head fall groggily against the headrest as her eyelids batted drowsily for a few times, covering her vision in intermittent darkness before they sealed entirely as her brain surrendered to lethargy.

**~**

Venice awoke with a start as her body jerked forward to find herself caged between the leather seat and the steering wheel. She sensed continuous vibrating coming from the passenger seat and she reached inside her handbag to fetch her buzzing phone. Squinting slightly as the blinding screen light flashed against her hooded eyes, it took her brain a few seconds to register the name of the caller. And just as her thumb hovered over the button to swipe it, the call stopped and slid to the top of a long list of other missed ones, of which seven were from Hange and five from John. She tapped on her friend’s name and brought the device to her ear, and as soon as it started ringing, she was met with Hange’s raucous voice.

“Where the fuck were you?”

“I-I’m, um…” She let her gaze survey her surroundings to discover she was still in her car outside the store. Blackness had obscured the sky and lampposts lit the now empty parking space she was stationed in. Pulling her phone away from her ear, she stole a glimpse at the time, 10:44 pm. _Shit!_

“You still there? Vee, is something wrong? Where the hell are you?” Hange bombarded.

“I’m fine… I just- I was with mom.”

“You sure you’re alright? You sound weird.”

Venice squeezed her eyes shut and tweaked the bridge of her nose as a deafening ringing hissed through her ears, shooting a sharp pain into her pulsating skull.

“I- I’m fine, Hange. What do you want?”

“John just called asking if you were with me and why you weren’t picking up, and I kind of panicked and told him you were in the bathroom and you didn’t see your phone?”

“Alright thanks, Hang, I owe you one.”

“You owe me a shitload.” Hange chuckled. “I told him that you’ll call him back though.”

“No need to, I’ll head home now.”

“Wait, what’s going on, Vee? When’d you make up with your mom?”

A long sigh escaped Venice’s lips. “I’ll tell you everything later, okay?”

“Alright, just be safe.”

“Okay, bye,” she said as she hanged up and started the engine, beginning her voyage back home.

**~**

It was half-past eleven when the sound of wheels screeching against the driveway echoed as Venice’s black car came to a halt in front of the front door. Peeking outside, the residence was engulfed in darkness with the only light coming from her bedroom window which meant her husband was home and undoubtedly awaiting her return.

Ever since their heated argument where he had accused her of cheating and questioned her feelings for her therapist, Venice had been turning her back on him. She avoided him as much as physically possible. At night, she would go to bed before he returned home or lock herself in the basement painting until he fell asleep, and in the morning, she would sleep in until he left for work. But tonight, she had no way to escape him; she had never stayed out this late without informing him, and although her friend covered for her, there was no knowing how he would react. She just hoped he wouldn’t start an argument this late at night because she was physically and emotionally exhausted, and it would send her over the edge.

Unlocking the front door, she traipsed her way into the kitchen and stood before the sink to wash her face which didn't help in appeasing her ghastly features, but it still brought an essence of vivacity back into them. Flicking the light off, she wafted her way through the pitch-black hallway and up the stairs to her son’s bedroom.

Opening the door with a soft click, she peeked inside to find him tucked in, soundly sleeping. Kneeling before his bed, she propped her elbow on the edge and tilted her head into the palm of her hand as her fingers ghostly caressed his cheek and stroked his brown tresses. A smile instantly tugged at her lips, brightening her glum figure, as the sight of his angelic face filled her heart with delight. Amid her disarray, he still managed to infuse tranquility and bliss into her wrecked soul. And with her wounded heart, she loved him more than life itself. She heartily cherished these discreet and peaceful moments where she could inundate him with her affection without interruption, for god knows how he wouldn’t let her get half this close to him when he’s awake. She wished time would stand still so she could dwell in this serene moment forever.

With a final kiss on his forehead, she rose to her feet and exited his room. A stream of light seeped into the dark hall from the cracked bedroom door illuminating her path as she tramped her way into her quarters. She inhaled deeply before pushing the door quietly, the sound of the running shower promptly hitting her ears and she headed straight to the dressing-room.

She trudged inside the wooden boudoir and paused before the mirrored sliding door opposite the entry, her eyes trailing up and down her reflection. _Pathetic. _Taking a seat on the small rounded bench next to the wardrobe, she slipped out of her stilettos, a hiss escaping her lips as a pain shot through her feet as she stretched them out to ease the stiffness.

The pattering of feet against the hardwood floor caught her attention, and she darted her head to the right, her eyes casting upon her husband’s form. He leisurely leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, and had a towel enfolded around his waist as his wet, tousled tresses draped over his forehead, curtaining his brows and part of his eyes.

She skimmed through his form drinking him up, as her mind traveled, marveling how she had even managed to marry such a fine-looking man. Their gazes locked and they stared at each other in silence; she had no desire to talk, and he didn’t know what to say. Although unapparent, she was slightly taken aback by his calmness for she was fully expecting him to throw a fit when she had come in.

Truthfully, he was relieved to see her; she had steered clear away from him for over a week, and with each passing day they further drifted apart. Since their quarrel, the nightmare of coming home at night to find her gone had haunted him, and when his calls weren’t answered this evening and with no clue about her whereabouts, he believed she had eventually done it and wouldn’t be coming back.

The thought of losing her had never occurred to him; he had taken her presence in his life for granted, over-confident of her everlasting company as he framed in his mind a perception that she’d never leave him. But ever since starting her therapy, the shifts in her behavior and character became more rampant, stirring their dynamic and rocking their shallow foundation and it had finally dawned on him that the imminent end he had pushed back for so long was looming closer now more than ever.

At times, he wondered why she had put up with him for all these years, and why he, in his turn, never brought himself to leave her. If he’d truly wished, she never would have been able to tie him down, but that wasn’t what he _wanted_. He stayed not out of obligation or duty, but because there was something only _she_ could give him; she was the drug running through his veins, and no matter how far his escapades carried him, his addiction always drove him back to her.

It possibly had to do with how, back when they first met, they completed one another. They were each other’s missing puzzle piece; he gave her the appreciation she desperately longed for, and she showered him in the consideration he was bereft of. Having constantly felt undervalued by his family and lived in his older brother’s shadow, she saw the world in him. She constantly relied on him and sought consolation in him, and he was drunk on the feeling of being her salvation; he relished on being wanted and relied upon emotionally and mentally.

He could’ve had any woman he set his eyes on and had been with exceedingly attractive and desirable women, but their bonds were superficial, failing to entice him into commitment. Never had he been part of something deeper and more meaningful than what he’d shared with Venice, and that is why he'd pledged himself to her. She was his soulmate and he wholeheartedly loved her—there was no denying it—but alas, that wasn’t enough to put his bad habits to rest. Not that he hadn’t tried, Lord knows how after every sensual night with her, where she’d remind him why she was the one to own his heart and the only person to brush his soul, he would resolve to never betray her again, but it was stronger than him. It couldn’t be helped; _it was just who he was._

He observed her immobile form and it appeared as if her spirit had left her frame; she was no longer there. The woman he had known and had merrily shared laughter and banter with. The woman whose unstable mood swings had driven him crazy and whose smile radiated around, melting his heart. The girl who had loved him beyond words. She had faded away, and sitting before him was merely a bleached version of the woman she used to be.

John pushed himself up and let his arms fall by his sides as he slowly sauntered towards his wife. Her eyes were fixated on him as she followed his motions—a vacuous and unscrutable look spreading across her face. Once before her, he stooped down on one knee and brought his head to her level before cupping her cheek in his hand as he delicately ran his thumb over the swollen flesh below her eye.

It was clear she had cried but he abstained from inquiring why; he dreaded the answer. At that moment, all that mattered was that she was back to him, and he would make it his life mission to never let her slip away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

Venice remained motionless as she pierced into the green irises of the man she used to love. _This_ was exactly how he had won her over and over and kept her by his side. He would always show up during her sparseness and pick her up from the depth of her despair, mending her shattered spirit and patching her splintered fragments. She hated herself for having continually surrendered to the empty promises his eyes spoke and the false vows his touches made. She resented herself for falling into the same embrace that, times and times through, deceived her into believing he was worthy of another chance. But over anything else, she loathed herself for not trusting she merited more and never taking over the reins and leading the life she truly desired.

John’s apologies were mislaid as his meaningless words fell on deaf ears. But his timing couldn’t have been more immaculate, for what she needed more than anything now, was _him_. She yearned for approval and validation, and just like every time she had been in need, he was the only one around to abundantly heal her.

An invisible cord drew her to him and closed the gap between their faces as she captured his lips in a long, chaste kiss. Bringing her hand to the back of his neck, she yanked his head forward, deepening their pure connection as she let passion take over. John’s hands hugged her face and he stood slowly, bringing her to her feet as well—their tongues never breaking their dance.

Sliding his fingers along her shoulders and down her sides, he untucked her satin shirt and pulled away momentarily to swiftly swing it over her head before reconnecting their lips. Sneaking its way around, one of his hands unzipped her skirt which instantly fell off her waist, pooling around her ankles on the floor. Gripping her ass, he hoisted her up, her legs instantaneously finding their way around his waist, and turned around, effortlessly holding her as he strode towards their king-sized bed.

Digging one knee in the edge of the mattress, he tenderly laid her on the beige satin quilt and stood back up to lustfully observe her form. His fingers grazed over the pinkish-brown elliptic birthmark on her right inner thigh, sending shudders all over her skin. He knew all her blemishes by heart and cherished every blotch her body preserved. She was imperfectly perfect and he wouldn’t have her any other way.

As the night wore on, their bodies united as he engulfed her in passion and warmth. No part of her delicate frame was left unvisited by his touch as he articulated all kinds of verbal affections into her ears. And as they rode down from their highs and laid in each other’s arms panting, their trains of thoughts departed in opposite directions.

To him, their heated union revitalized their washed-up connection, helping him realize that a life she wasn't part of would be insufferable. While to her, it further evidenced that she no longer belonged with him and that they were, once and for all, _over_.


	9. Mothers' sixth sense

Muffled sniffles spewed out and resounded around before getting absorbed by the engrossing silence reigning over the room. Her friend sat before her, hands over her lap as her slender fingers tautly fiddled with the hem of her dress—eyes pierced on the brunette's quaking form. Her brain was in a battle with her eyesight; the spectacle unfolding before her was truly mind-boggling. She had never seen her in this state; never surmised it was even possible for her to crumble this way.

Throughout their years as friends, Hange had never shed a single tear. Not in Venice's presence at least. Her exuberant nature abounded at all times, labeling her as a cheery, merry and forever sparkling science enthusiast. But Hange was much more than that. What lay beneath her spirited exterior was a thick layer of emotions, reservations, and qualms. Her deeply buried and rarely summoned vulnerabilities identified her as adamantine when in reality she was just like the rest of us; a woman prone to sadness, frustration, and all other feelings of distress.

"I thought he'd be happy, you know. I—" Hange covered her mouth with her hands as a spurt of hiccups quashed the words back into her throat.

Venice hurried to Hange's side and draped an arm around, her hand soothingly rubbing circles on her back as she cooed her gently. From what Hange had managed to stammer through her sobs, her husband hadn't taken the news of her pregnancy as well as she would have hoped for.

Who would've thought that Moblit wouldn't be enthused in joy to learn that he'd become a father? Well, apparently, there was much more to the couple than what their outwardly flawless image exuded.

Hange and Moblit were a career-driven couple. They had met in university; she was a medical student while he was studying law, and their years of hard work and hustle paid off. Moblit ended up co-founding one of the city's largest law firms, which was how the two ladies had become friends in the first place—John was one of his clients. Similarly, Hange became a physician, head of the gynecology department of the largest hospital in town. Having blindly fallen in love with one another during their college days, the pair had been together for fifteen years—five as a married couple. Ambitious and sedulous, they had agreed to concentrate on their professions and wait until their mid-forties to have children.

"I mean, I know we'd planned everything, but it's not like I got fucking pregnant on my own."

"Hange, aren't you overreacting a bit? It can't possibly be that bad. What did he say exactly?"

"Nothing," she flung her hands up in the air, "that's what's driving me crazy. He just got up and left."

_Ouch! _Venice's nose scrunched and her lips pursed in a grimace. "Honestly, your timing was terrible; you should've given it some thought and waited until he came back from his trip," she said. "Now just let him be alright? It's good that he's gone; it's gonna give both of you some headspace." Hange nodded torpidly, hands wiping her damp cheeks. "So, are you excited?" Venice grinned as she nudged her friend's shoulder.

The ghost of a smile tugged at Hange's lips and she dug her teeth in her bottom lip. "I'm kind of... scared."

Rolling her eyes, Venice scoffed. "You? Scared? Get the fuck outta here!"

"There's a human being growing inside of me can you believe it," she mused, eyes glistening in astonishment.

Hange had always been fascinated by the human anatomy, and from a scientific standpoint, she believed pregnancy was a marvel. However, she'd also seen how women were affected by it; morning sickness, backache, round ligament pain, and not to mention, the labor, and yet, the days they learned they were expecting were—in most cases—the happiest of their lives. For all the physical suffering it inflicted on women, the fuss around pregnancy had never made sense to her.

Having to experience the phenomena at first hand, however, propelled her brain into a mystical realm foreign to her and she finally began to understand what it was all about. Pregnancy was way beyond the boundaries of anything methodical or scientifically perceptible; it was an ethereal experience and no substantial words would ever do it justice.

"I know, it's the most amazing feeling. I was too young and dumb to realize it back then," Venice said wistfully.

"You can always experience it again."

Hange's words made Venice chuckle; it was ironic, to say the least. Venice was deliberating whether she should end her marriage and had visited Hange to consult with her. Incertitude and indecision were hazing her judgment; she needed an equitable opinion on the situation, and Hange was outspoken and had always been honest with her, no matter the severity of the truth. Paradoxically, there she was, advising her to expand her family and fall pregnant again.

"What's funny? Did I say something?" she inquired and Venice simply shook her head. Hange was too dazed to discern the melancholy lying behind her friend's chuckles. On any normal day, it wouldn't have taken her more than a glimpse at Venice's face to pick up on her troubles, but this wasn't any normal day and Venice understood it; today was about Hange.

"You know, I've always thought that when Moblit and I would finally decide to have kids, we'd adopt. I've never pictured myself pregnant."

"You should be grateful, Han; many women would die to be able to carry a baby."

"I know," she whispered as she placed her hand over her belly in an idyllic display of serenity. Her peaceful countenance didn't persist that long though as her true self re-emerged and her features contorted in wrath. "You tell that to that ungrateful fuck," Hange fumed. "I think hormones were already messing with me, cause I swear, if I was in my normal state, I would've kneed him in the dick."

"I wouldn't recommend that if you ever want to give this precious bean a brother or a sister," Venice gushed as she tickled Hange's bell, making her chuckle as she wiped the dallying droplets of tears away from her eyelashes. "How far along are you?"

"I'd say around three weeks," Hange said nonchalantly.

Venice moved away from her, brows tightly knit in a scowl. "You'd say?"

Hange hummed in response, a wide, silly grin plastered on her face.

"You cannot be serious, Hange," Venice growled, eyes shut as her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I am; I just know it, okay? Come on, you should understand."

"No, I shouldn't and I can't fucking believe you. All this fuss and you're not even sure?"

"I can feel it, I swear. But don't worry, I'll get myself tested at the hospital," Hange assured and Venice shot her a glare. "Anyway, enough about me, tell me, why did you come by?" she asked, her words shooting a pang into Venice's heart and basking her soul in guilt. _Have I always been this selfish?_

Usually, when the pair would meet, Venice's matters were always the topic of conversation—Hange a mere listener. Only now had Venice realized how self-centered she had been; hardly ever stepping aside to let her friend take over the spotlight, to the point where Hange crying took her by surprise. But most importantly, she understood how selfless and considerate Hange was, for even during her lowest times, she was willing to listen to Venice and give her her undivided attention.

"Nothing, I just missed you." Venice smiled, resting her head on Hange's should—eternally thankful for the pure gem that was her friend.

** **~** **

Buckling herself in, Venice started the engine and hit the accelerator—letting her feet languidly drive her, as her mind roved, mulling over her life.

After her night with John, Venice's mind was set; she knew what had to be done. Yet, a sliver of reluctance and uncertainty dawdled deep within. This time around, her decision would not only affect her life, but that of her son as well, and for that specific reason, she was hesitating. Venice needed guidance; she longed for assent. A simple nod of approval that would affirm that her next course of action was, in fact, the right one. That she wasn't being selfish, and that splitting up wouldn't further wreck her bond with her son.

To her relief, John had left this morning with Moblit to the capital for a four days business trip, granting her the space needed to clear her mind and sort out her thinking. His presence would've impeded her thought process and possibly skewed her choosing.

The hope to get some help from Hange was quashed, and her list of potential assistants was now empty. At least her visit to Hange's hadn't proved to be completely fruitless. It shed light on Venice's egoism; she'd been taking her friend for granted, and resolved to reform their lopsided relationship into a more balanced one.

It was June and the days were long and warm. The sun had begun to set, its dying rays painting the sky in a hypnotic, violet hue. Venice's gazed up and watched as a dissimulation of blackbirds winged over the dissipated clouds. Her brain imprinted the picturesque panorama in her memory with a mental note to try and revive it on her canvas at a later time.

Green trees stood along the roadside, their verdant bushes blending as Venice drove through the neighborhood, and it wasn't until her car stopped a couple of houses away from the familiar cottage that she'd realized where she was. Subliminally, her brain had hauled her to the next person she hoped she could seek help from, her mother.

Venice hadn't spoken to Victoria since she'd caused her to collapse a second time, over two months ago. Her mother had never helped her choose the right path. She'd never advised her. So, why was she always gravitating back to her?

Deep down, Venice still hoped they could be mother and daughter. That was all she had ever wished for. She wanted someone to lean on, a shoulder to cry on, and an embrace to hold during her darkest times and reassure her that better days are ou the way. John had taken over this role when her mother was the root of her dilemmas, but now that _he_ was the reason behind her dismay, who should she turn to?

Venice sat for several minutes, motionless, eyes numbly bored into the front door of her childhood house. Darkness hovered over and streetlamps turned on, the lantern of the front porch of her mother's cottage as well.

Venice beat her brain's out, desperately searching for a reason as to why she'd gone there, but to no avail. There was no logical explanation. Perhaps it was the grander force of the universe that manipulates the courses of events. Perhaps it was a simple coincidence. Perhaps it was the desperation that their damaged relationship could still be mended igniting within her. Whatever it was, it spoke to her and urged her to exit that car, walk over, and knock on that familiar, white door.

Grabbing her purse and reaching for the knob, she heard incoherent chatter and instantly darted her head up. Venice watched as Victoria's house door swung open, and stepping outside first was a tall man followed by a woman with dirty blonde hair. It was her sister and her boyfriend. Shortly after, her mother's petite form came into view. Arms wrapping around each of the couple in turn, Victoria's hearty laughs as they bid her goodbye echoed around the quiet street.

A hammering sound resounded inside the car as Venice's heartbeat picked up—tears welling in her eyes and smothering her vision. They seemed so happy; no, they were truly happy. The view unraveling before her was picture-perfect and there was no room for her in it. She had no place in their blissful lives. A single tear dropped on her cheek and she looked down, avoiding the poignant scene as her soul wallowed in a mire of foolishness and idiocy.

Hot tears scorched Venice's vision and she chuckled deeply. It was pathetic. All she seemed to do these days was cry. Her fingers swiftly swiped over her eyes, wiping the brooks threatening to pour down her cheeks. The ache inflicted on her heart was immeasurable; it felt like her spirit lay crushed under a mound of hefty boulders. She felt left out. When her life in the brink of fall apart, they were going on with their days, oblivious to her purgatory. She needed both women now more than ever, but their lives seemed to carry on seamlessly, without a fragment of worry about her.

Her sister wasn't to blame; it was Venice's fault for shutting her away, terminating their sisters' bond. It was all Victoria's responsibility. Venice had estranged herself from Isabella mainly because she was jealous of her; she envied her relationship with _their_ mother. The same mother she had always dreamt of bonding with but always came up short.

Did Victoria not care about her at all? The last time she had seen her daughter, she was getting carried into an ambulance after having passed out on her lounge's floor. To say that Victoria wasn't worried about her daughter's health would be a blatant lie. She'd contacted John that very night and checked on her condition, but to go as far as acting out of character and visiting or calling her was out of question. It would have gone against everything she had manifested during her entire daughter's life, and Victoria was a _proud_ woman.

Closing the front door after Isabella and her boyfriend had departed, Victoria flicked the lights of the living room off. Her fingers clutched the rim of the curtain and she peeked outside—her speculations confirmed when she glimpsed her daughter's polished, black car parked outside, a couple of houses away. Her eyesight might have deteriorated, but if there was one thing that hadn't fluctuated one bit despite her aging, it was her sharp senses. As soon as she had set foot outside, she felt it. It was truly mystical; no matter the circumstances or the nature of the mother-daughter bond, the motherly instincts were otherworldly inclinations, always prevailing and transgressing any logical verges.

In all honesty, Victoria hadn't expected to see Venice ever again. She knew she hadn't been an ideal mother to her, hell, she hadn't even been a moderate mother. Her maternal ways were highly influenced by the ones she'd herself acquired growing up. What Venice had endured because of her mother, she herself had gone through during her upbringing. Victoria had, however, managed to turn her inadequate methods around with her second daughter, Isabella, but couldn't bring herself to do so with her firstborn. With Venice, other factors came into play; factors only she and her late husband knew of.

A stream of light flashed against the window Victoria stood behind as her daughter's car steered past the house. Heavy-hearted, she draped the curtain and spun around, going back inside.


	10. Be my friend... just for today

"There you go, sir."

"Thank you." Erwin courteously smiled at the cheerful cashier—whose grin almost stretched to her ears—and veered around, ambling farther inside the coffeehouse.

He'd just wrapped one of his sessions up and a pause to rally before his next appointment was compulsory. So, he'd strolled to a Starbucks situated a few blocks away. Originally intending to grab a drink and return to his office right away, his plan was altered when the place's soothing coziness lulled him into lounging around and savoring his drink on the spot. In all truth, their selection of drinks wasn't that striking to Erwin, but in comparison to what was on offer in the clinic's cafeteria, their beverages were remarkably luscious.

With his Doppio in hand, Erwin surveyed the spacious shop, scouring for a tranquil nook to seek sanctum within. The last thing he wanted was to run into someone he knew during his break; it would be counterproductive. Much to his _delight_, his prayers were answered instantly but reversely as his gaze landed on a familiar silhouette, one of his glorious brows instantly arching up at the aberrant sight.

Slouched on a booth at a secluded corner in the far end of the coffee house was Venice. Right foot down, the sole of her white Air Force ones drummed unceasingly against the hardwood floors while her left leg sprawled on a chair to her left. Fingers securely wrapped around her drink and lips latched on its straw, she held the cup close to her chest as she sipped at it, eyes lethargically staring up. Tracing the imaginary thread her vision seemed to be hitched with, Erwin deflected his gaze up to be met with a vast world map garnishing the entirety of the ceiling above their heads.

Reverting to his addled patient, Erwin enjoyed the unusual spectacle. Her habitual masquerade flushed down the drain, Venice sat there with no fucks given and her guard let down as her mind sailed far away in trance. It was written all over her face; from her casual attire to her aloof seating position, her spirit floated above the clouds, only leaving her flesh and blood as slaves to the unswerving gravity.

A faint simper adorned Erwin's rugged countenance as he drank Venice's disheveled form in. Rashness concealing sensibleness for a split second was all it took for his legs to begin striding towards her, as if on autopilot. The picture before him in its entirety was odd, but something, in particular, felt distinctly off, and the closer he loomed, the clearer it became. _Her hair_.

Venice's long, chocolaty hued mat of loose waves was gone—two-thirds of it chopped. Erwin was aware of her predicaments, but Venice didn't strike him as the type who'd cut their hair when in anguish. But then again, he should've known better. After all, Venice was a woman; and only a foolish man would claim to understand _any_ woman.

Reason reclaimed its hold on the reins just in time, ceasing Erwin's march midway. Cerebral functions finally kicking in, haziness dissolved from before his dazed eyes and a surge of incredulity gushed through his nerves. _What the hell am I doing? Why am I walking over to a patient?_

The ethical code was clear-cut, and engaging with patients in public wasn't part of it. Unless they would initiate it, Erwin was to respect his clients' boundaries and steer clear of them—and he always had. Even when they were to the ones to instigate them, Erwin would keep their interactions brief and cursory.

He and Venice had met outside his office not long ago, at Hange's house, but that was different; they were penned in and forced to come face to face, unlike now. This time around, Erwin could walk away and altogether deter any brush with Venice, and yet, there he was. As if enthralled, his body was unconsciously wafting towards her. _Why do I feel so unnaturally drawn to her?_

Rigidly planted at the center of the coffee shop, a crisp sixty seconds had passed since he'd halted any movement—brain and heart opposed in an infernal battle of duty and want. His head ultimately crowned champion of the unruly clash, Erwin spun on his heel, ready to retreat and abandon ship.

"Dr. Smith?" An overfamiliar, silky voice sang, its undulations traveling to collide with his eardrums and forcefully hindering his getaway.

_Well, it would be rude to ignore her._

Venice was on her feet when Erwin swiveled to face her, hand up in the air, sluggishly waving at him. A slender smile disbanded his austere façade once he stood before her—only a square, wooden table segregating them—and Venice's lips sprained in a similarly vulnerable arc. It might not have broken through her distressed guise and bubbled on her features, but her heart warmed up at the sight of a familiar face.

"Mrs. Williams," Erwin greeted, re-immersing in his earnest psychiatrist persona he'd gone out to unwind from.

Venice gestured to the seat across from her. Completely disregarding the havoc stirring his mind, and within which his brain cells scampered around flashing neon signs with the words 'Turn around and leave!', Erwin took a seat. His stern face contorted in visible vexation as he internally reviled the nerves that had defied his directives and instructed his hands to pull the chair.

Elbows propped on the table; Venice rested her chin on the palm of her left hand while the fingertips of her other scratched her nape in fret. They were mindful of the hefty tension enveloping them and as if on cue, both spoke up simultaneously. Erwin bit his words back and Venice chuckled nervously, exhorting him to go on first.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just lounging around, killing time before our session."

Erwin nodded and glimpsed at the Cartier Santos fastened around his wrist. "We can go now if you'd like; I just came to grab a coffee."

"Funny you should mention that because I was wondering if..." Venice trailed off, studying Erwin's stern and anticipating stare, "maybe, we could we stay here?" she asked diffidently—voice scarcely an octave higher than a murmur.

"What do you mean? We have a session in half an hour."

"I know. Can't we have it here?"

"I'm afraid not," Erwin said apologetically. "I can't discuss anything confidential outside the office."

"Nothing confidential. You came here to take a break, right? So, we can do that; just chill and blabber about anything."

"I don't think that's a good—"

"Okay, fine," Venice chimed in flippantly. "You don't have to talk; just listen." A look of perplexity took over Erwin's features and Venice heaved a loud, weary sigh. "Just keep me company, will you? I want somebody to listen to me without being obligated... I just need a friend right now."

Erwin stared at her, mouth slightly agape, as his heart almost wrenched at her words. They were so sincere, so lugubrious and hopeless; not camouflaging any ulterior intentions nor alluding to anything suggestive, they simply mirrored the abysmal loneliness overwhelming her soul. As much as he was touched by her evident melancholy, however, Erwin could not allow himself to get swayed.

"Venice, we're not friends," Erwin said in all the seriousness he could summon up at this flimsy moment.

"I know. But can't you pretend? Just for today, please," she pleaded. "I'll pay for my session."

Erwin squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand over his face; this wasn't about payment, nor was it about her. This had become about _him_. He was going down a road he knew he should keep away from, but he hadn't had much of a choice truly, because the further he tried to alienate himself and shove Venice away, the more she clung onto him.

Another interval of stillness ticked by in which Erwin only stared at the cup of coffee in his hands—Venice meticulously observing him. His thoughts were racing; his mind torn between what was right and wrong, and the longer he pondered, the more he fathomed that there would be only ramifications from either choice.

Their initial doctor-patient relationship was gradually sprawling beyond its designated boundaries, and his relenting to her demands would only deviate it further, possibly to a point of no return. Similarly, declining her demand would be risking having her skip today's session, which he wouldn't want, given her current plight.

Erwin was wading in a quandary. Going by the lawful book would mean risking having his patient miss out on assistance she was patently in desperate need of; abiding by her wishes would mean infringing one of the fundamental principles of his profession. He was in a no-win situation.

Venice could sense Erwin's unwillingness as nuances of his inner turmoil translated on his countenance, causing his lips to curve downward and his caterpillar brows to weave firmly. What she'd asked of him was wrong on so many levels and she knew it. She also knew, however, that her therapist wasn't one to bend to people's will and that if he'd truly dreaded being there, he would've left long ago. Perhaps he lingered around because of his sense of duty. Perhaps it was simply out of pity. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Venice didn't dwell much on it and greedily indulged herself in these transient moments in his treasured company.

Scuffing her brain for any means to break the deafening quietness encompassing them, a surge of self-consciousness washed over her and she wreathed her svelte fingers around the hairs in the back of her neck. She'd woken up this morning with an indescribable drive to rid of something, _anything_, and she'd stopped by her regular beauty parlor mere hours earlier, her long, velvety chevelure falling prey to her unforeseen and ferocious mood swing.

"What do you think about my new haircut?" Venice reluctantly asked—her bottom lip stuck between her teeth.

Erwin riveted his gaze up, eyes slithering over Venice's perturbed form. In truth, shorter hair had always been a personal preference of his; he loved the self-confidence and autonomy women wearing it oozed. That being said, he'd been with women sporting all types of hairstyles and never felt the need to comment on the topic. As long as they felt comfortable in their own skin, who was he to weigh in?

"Do _you_ like it?" Erwin asked.

Venice stiffened for an instant, taken aback. Needless to say, her haircut was more of an outer statement than a makeover; if she'd mustered enough courage to let go of the affluent tresses, she'd spent years sprouting, she could set any other thing free—even herself. Her liking of the result was simply the icing on the cake.

"Surprisingly, I do... It's not as bad as it thought it'd be."

"Then, that's the only thing that matters," Erwin stated collectedly and watched as a heartening glimmer twinkled across Venice's brown irises.

A sincere smile crept its way to the corner of her mouth and she lowered her eyes, a light, pink hue overlaying her cheeks. It was the consensus that men had an inclination for longer hair, and her husband was no different. He'd always assertively stated his preference of Venice's long hair, urging her to let it grow and never cut it. And while she never had, mainly because she liked it as well and also saw no wrong in pleasing the man she used to love, it felt astoundingly exhilarating to have the man she currently loved favor _whatever_ made _her_ happy.

Quietness followed. Erwin occasionally sampled his double espresso while Venice's cold drink sat neglected. The pair's gazes frenetically sprinted from one element to the other, gliding over their surroundings and resolutely resisting the desire to settle on the other.

The cheeping of birds, screeching of tires, and pale glimmers of the late afternoon sun all seeped through the grand windows glazing the walls. Incoherent chatter of the fleeting customers sounded around and deadened as soon as they left. People were in a rush—Venice, and Erwin the only constants within the bustling scenery.

"The weather's nice," Venice finally spoke, and Erwin simply hummed while looking out the window to his left. He wasn't going to partake in her conversations; listening was all he was willing to offer.

Picking up on this fact from Erwin's evident apathy—that completely belied the genuine concern he inwardly held for her—Venice saw no necessity for preambles. The purpose of his company was, after all, to help her overcome her dilemma.

"I'm lost." Venice instigated, testing the waters. Erwin's shifting in his seat and the clasping of his hands over the table—eyes fixated on her—was her cue to carry on; a voiceless confirmation that he was all ears.

"Everything's so clear and I know what should be done. Yet, something feels off, " Venice admitted. "I know that this is not what I want anymore; this is not how I want to live for the rest of my life. But I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

_Goddamnit!_

Erwin had indeed tried not to embark on this outdoor session, but it proved difficult to repress his shrink's idiosyncrasies as the words unintentionally slipped his mouth and he inwardly cursed at his entire being that showed impervious resistance and went against every sensible order of his.

"Of making the wrong choice, I think... I'm afraid that now I'm blinded and once I regain my vision, it'll be too late. Because it all feels so rushed, you know, and it terrifies me. Not long ago, my life was ordinary, though sometimes hectic, but isn't that the case for everyone?" Venice asked rhetorically. "Not every day is a good day and I was getting by with it. Then, all of a sudden, everything crumbled, and the reality I've known all this time became so foreign to me; it's as if I have died and was reincarnated in a body that isn't mine. I have no idea how I've put up with it all for this long." Venice said.

"There's a limit to what a person's mind can take, and yours reached its boiling point. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

Venice fiddled with her burgundy coated fingernails, Erwin's words whirling inside her head. He was right; it was bound to happen. Her pretense that her marriage was a happy one; her guise that her relationship with her mother wasn't noxious. Venice had always sheltered herself behind a translucent veil because of her cowardice and it was only a matter of time before her mind gave up.

"It's just that I'm worried about Adam. My next course of action won't affect me alone; it isn't only about me anymore. I'm a mother; I shouldn't be selfish."

"How is your choice going to make you selfish?"

"Well, if I get a divorce John would have to leave, and as you know, mine and Adam's relationship isn't perfect as it is. He'd definitely blame me for it."

"So, you're ready to condemn yourself for your son?"

Venice gaped at Erwin in bafflement. "I am thinking about my son. Are you suggesting I don't give a fuck about him or the effects this could have on him and simply do what I want?"

"I am not suggesting anything, but merely following your reasoning. It is factual that, from what you've said, thinking about your son would mean boxing yourself in an unhappy marriage. Are you willing to do that?"

Venice kept her gaze glued to Erwin's for a few instants before darting it down, deep in rumination. Her son was her main priority, that much was undoubted, but what floundered her in further reluctance was _change_. The fear of the unknown.

Change had always frightened her. She'd only ever truly been through it once, and that was when she had made the transition from a girl living with her parents to the wife of a wealthy businessman and mother of his child. The latter stretching over the last fourteen years of her life. Her upcoming decision, however, would put an end to this second era of her life—the one she thought she'd die on—and stir her life irreversibly. She would become a divorced woman and a single mother. But was it truly that bad? Was keeping her conventional position within the embrace of a man she had no feelings for and her label of a wife worth straining herself and draining her spirit of all forms of vigor?

Discerning Venice's inner turmoil that bubbled through her overwrought features, Erwin spoke up again, "Remember how I've asked you during our first session about what makes you happy and you said you didn't know?" Venice looked up, head bobbing in a nod. "Do you know now?"

Venice's head swiveled to her right to peek outside the window, the fluctuating, verdant branches of a tree on the side of the road capturing her glistening eyes and lulling her mind into a realm of possibilities and what-ifs.

Venice had always dreamed of becoming a painter. Canvas, brushes, and the infinity of possible hues one could pick from all that had ever smeared her vision in her youth. But she wasn't courageous enough to object to her father who had—with the patronage of her mother—stood in the way of her fervent fantasies, forcing her to enroll in a business degree. 'A guaranteed course' as he used to call it.

Her friends at the Art Club back in high school had all earned their parents’ support, and the few who hadn't prevailed sailed off in their fleets and started over, from the bottom. Some of them she'd been following on social media had even held their own exhibitions. 

Whereas Venice, well, she was where she was now. Instead of holding onto the bright and steady thread her visions had hurled at her and allowing it to guide her through the obstructed alleys of life, she'd spinelessly let it go, yielding to her late father’s orders. 

Had she known the sequence of events that would ensue because of her cowardice at the time, Venice would've chosen another path. She would’ve gone down another route. Irrespective of the impediments tossed at her, she would've fought her way, just like everyone did in this arduous life that handed nothing on a silver platter.

The sun shuffled ever so slightly behind the tree, tailing its designated course down the horizon, and Venice felt jealous of it. Glinting in deific splendor, the star always knew exactly where it was going; the sun knew its purpose and followed its predefined path from dawn to dusk each day, never seeming to get lost or stray out of track.

As if sensing Venice's envy from millions of light-years away, the sun found the impeccable fissure through the jumble of leaves hanging on the branches and cruised one of its radiant gleams at Venice, causing the woman to squint as the blinding glow stabbed into her brown irises. Eyelids batting repeatedly to mollify the blazing hues shadowing her sight, Venice balked back in her seat, head swirling away to shroud from the celestial stellar she stood no chance against in this one-sided battle.

Eyes that had drifted in brusque motion to elude the divinity soaring in the sky fell upon another sitting across from them. _Her_ sun. The sun that had shed light on the many holes puncturing her paper-thin existence. Erwin sat in all his grandeur, arms crossed over the table, his soft-blue, striped shirt fitting his sculpture to excellence and gifting her the most ideal view of his broad biceps. The canals of blood crawling up his forearms bulged at Venice who felt her face kindle and her heart almost skip a beat. His eyes dead on her, hers remained fixated on his moving mouth, heeding no attention to his words, recollections of his lips' feel on hers cascading rivers of shills down her spine.

_God, I want to bite those—_

"Mrs. Williams?"

"Hmm?"

"You haven't answered my question," Erwin said.

Venice heaved a desolate sigh. Why did he have to haul her out of her daydreams? For a split second, all she felt was bliss and _desire_. Straightening her posture, she swirled the plastic cup between her hands on the table.

"What was it again?" she asked in a semblance of nonchalance that, oddly, skidded past Erwin's eagle-eyes.

Erwin munched the inside of his cheek to allay a smile from tugging at his lips. _The nerve of this woman! _She'd never cease to astonish him. From all the patients he'd ever had to deal with, Venice was by a long way the most taunting one. Her defiance and insolence would've ruffled any of his compeer's feathers, but he reveled in it. Time spent with her was pure ecstasy; not that he exulted in her misfortunes, no. He wholeheartedly wished for her to find inner peace, but truthfully, she was a blast. The thrills she enkindled within him, the inquisitiveness to know what floundered about in that head of hers, and the anticipation to watch her piquant ripostes and ireful rejoinders were all whys and wherefores of his ongoing treatment to her.

It was wrong, and the problem was that he knew it but was utterly impuissant when it came to her.

"I asked if you now have an idea of what could make you happy."

"I wouldn't say that I know for sure," Venice began, "I've only had like, what? Three months of therapy?"

"Perhaps you had always known but simply needed a push."

"Well, I can say that I have a cue on where to start."

"That's good," Erwin commended.

"But it's not that easy."

"What are you so hesitant about?"

"Well, my son, for one. And secondly..." Venice's voice gradually deadened and she raked a hand through her short, wavy locks, a deep breath of disorientation escaping her mouth.

Erwin gawked as she vacantly stared down, the yellowish shafts kissing her warm, beige skin and tinging her cheeks with a fervid pink. Her beauty wasn't unparalleled; Erwin had seen and been with prettier women. But there was something about her, something _intriguing_. She was spellbinding—in every sense of the word—and her enticing charm magnetized the most when she'd flaunt it the least, during her most vulnerable moments. Those rare, strewn junctures he'd had exclusively the chance to witness.

Venice's stumped irises bashfully lifted and linked with Erwin's vigilant ones. Her eyes were her loveliest trait; almond-shaped and rivaling the luminance of Sirius, they could effortlessly enthrall any man. During the few months he'd come to know her and though he was primarily subjected to her racy, crude, and susceptible facets, Erwin comprehended why a reputable man—business-wise—like John Williams had fallen for and married her. Because beneath her cloak of flaws and weaknesses, some of which weren't necessarily her fault, hid an unwary and gullible little girl, still seeking validation and acceptance in every step she took and worthy of any man’s affection and devotion.

"There's simply too much at stake," Venice admitted. "I'm on my own; that's what I realized yesterday. I've got no one by my side, and honestly, I don't know if I'm ready to change what had been my reality for the past fifteen years. I'm not confident that I can pull off such a heavy transition on my own."

"Good things take time; you can't skip steps in life. What matters is to be sure that the road you're going down is the right one. If it is, then you've got no choice but to face all hurdles thrown at you to reach the finish the line. So, is this path truly the one you want?"

"I don't know..." Venice mumbled hesitantly.

"It's okay not to know. But you said you had a clue, so, that's a beginning. Give it some more thought, and if you feel like cruising down that way would benefit_ you_, and _only you_, then, don't hesitate."

Venice nodded.

"And I know it may seem impossible now, but believe me, when your son grows up, he would not blame you for having chosen your happiness."

A sweet smile adorned Venice's features as her spirit swelled with warmness. She couldn't have asked for a better _friend_. "Thank you, Erwin."

His name sweetly seeping out of her lips almost had his heart thump out of his chest as he raptly watched her. And that was when he knew, in that precise moment, that after he'd helped point Venice in the right direction, _he was the one straying off-course_.

This woman was starting to make him do unprecedented things. She was beginning to course a flood of _nostalgic_ feelings through him. Feelings he was well acquainted with. Feelings he had experienced before. Feelings he knew vowed nothing promising. Feelings he was _not _willing to let get the best of him again.

As the pair parted ways, Erwin strode back to his office, the weight of his startling realization sagging his shoulders while Venice strolled to her Mercedes, posture relaxed as her mind had, relatively, been uncluttered.

Reaching for the handle, Venice stopped when she felt her phone vibrate in the pocket of her jeans.

**John**

I'll be home tomorrow evening. Got a surprise for you and Adam. Kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. I apologize for taking so long between updates; my life's a bit hectic atm.
> 
> Anyways! FINALLY some Vee and Erwin time alone, yay! I hope you enjoyed this long chapter; let me know what you think of these two's interactions. Does their relationship feel natural? Or is something off? Feedback is always welcome.
> 
> xoxoxo


	11. True colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, beautiful souls,
> 
> Finally an update, two months later, yikes! I'm sorry it's taken me so long, but because I love this story so much, I want it to be absolutely perfect that writing it can become daunting at times.
> 
> Anyway, here's a new chapter, dedicated to all the lovely readers who take time to read and comment. Your kind words mean the world to me. Thank you so much.♥
> 
> Enjoy, and let me know what you think!  
And most importantly, stay safe! xoxoxo

John entered the metallic key in the lock and twisted it to the right to unlock the door open. Carefully pushing the wooden barrier, he stepped inside. Setting his LV duffel bag beside the large entrance staircase, his eyes prowled around the expanse that basked in bizarre and deafening stillness. It was summer break, and he'd come home with the image of his young boy merrily skipping into his arms as soon as he'd enter his house, just like whenever he came back from his business trips. He couldn't dismiss the poignant sting of disappointment that jabbed his heart.

He peeked into the stainless Audemars Piguet strapped around his wrist. 4:32 pm. _Maybe they're out._

Hunching forward to pick up his bag and climb up the stairs to his bedroom, a brief, dissonant rattling sound echoing through the hallway thwarted his movement.

Stealthily cruising his way to the kitchen, John's green eyes glinted as they landed on his wife. A smile enriched his features as he relished the pristine scenery before him—a view he was well familiar with and would never get tired of.

It was teatime, and Venice lolled behind the counter, one hand holding the kettle as she poured scorching water into her favorite Aladdin and Jasmine mug. John had bought it for her when they'd been to Disneyland in Paris. Genie was her all-time favorite Disney character, and recollections of how much she had wept over Robin Williams' passing a few years back reeled before his eyes. The little girl hibernating within her was precious to him—her innocuous spirit one of the reasons he'd ardently fallen for her.

Soundlessly winding around the counter, John waddled to stand behind Venice, causing her heart to almost lunge out of her throat when his strong arms snaked around her waist. Nuzzling her nape, Venice shuddered as John's lips feathered her bare flesh with light pecks, sending shivers down her spine—albeit _not_ ones of pleasure.

"I missed you," he whispered into her ear, softly grazing her lobe with his teeth, reaping a profound exhale from the disturbed woman.

"John—"

"I was barely able to function these days after that night we had; you know. All I could think about was you," John mumbled as he hauled a profound whiff of her intoxicating aroma, Venice's vanilla scent tickling his senses and rocketing his primal lust.

Tightly pressed between the marble countertop and her inflamed husband, Venice maneuvered to swirl in his tight grip, her front fleshing with his warm chest. Pressing himself further against her, John's mouth hungrily latched onto her neck, unmercifully singeing her skin with ravenous kisses that trailed up to her jaw.

Venice's hands docked on her husband's biceps, tightly clutching the fabric of his polo shirt. "John, stop—"

"Wait!" John brought his head up, his brows puckering in a scowl. "What happened to your hair?" Venice held her silence as her husband's fingers instantly reached to grasp the end of a strand of her short hair. "Why'd you cut it? You know I love your hair."

"I couldn't care less about what you love, John," she said—her tone unwavering.

The man's brows shot up as his eyes spread wide, disturbance twisting his traits. Taken aback by Venice's sudden display of animosity, John stepped backward, ceasing his encroaching of her space—his wife's sudden tempest in a teapot not being all that foreign to him.

"Of course, honey. What _you_ love is what matters."

Venice rolled her eyes and spun around, finalizing the final touches of her favorite mint tea while John slanted against the counter across from her. Palming the pocket of his trousers and feeling the small box it housed, he pondered whether this was the right moment to give her the teardrop-shaped diamond necklace he'd bought for her on his voyage. John had never come back home from trips empty-handed. From sweets and chocolate to jewelry and video games for his son, John had constantly shopped for his family while away, and they'd always await his return with eagerness to see what he would bring.

Gifts for his son were out of pure, unadulterated love—to catch a glimpse of the spirited beam that would always embellish his face and for all the hugs he'd bombard him with. His wife, however, the plethora of presents she'd received throughout the years were more out of guilt. A pitiful attempt to acquit his conscience of the hefty weight that would mercilessly crush it after every tryst he'd have while on the move. As if the smile that'd adorn her lips, the embrace she'd engulf him with, and the kisses she'd plant on his cheeks were conciliatory enough. As if watching her face illuminate in delight would somehow erase the ruthlessness of his wrong deeds.

This time around, however, his present wasn't out of all the above. No. This time around, the intent behind it was genuine; he truly wanted to make her happy. This time around, it was out of the vigorous love he harbored for her, because, though he'd always known it and taken it for granted, he'd finally realized how much she _truly_ meant to him. This time around, he idiotically grinned like a youth looking for an engagement ring for his high school sweetheart while in the jewelry shop.

But alas, this time around, _it was too late_.

Resolving to leave it for a later time, John watched intently as his wife strode out of the kitchen area and into the dining space, taking a seat at the table—mug in hand. Haunting behind her, John stood steps away from his silent wife.

"Did you get my text yesterday?" he asked.

"I did."

"Why didn't you reply?"

"I had nothing to say."

John pursed his lips and nodded his head, a perplex look twisting his traits. Something was unquestionably off with his wife, and he was still unsure of how to behave at all. Was it simply a mood swing that would fade away on its own like the many he'd witnessed her go through over the years, or was her demeanor impelled by something grander, that required his utmost concern? He simply did not know, and it only evidenced further that either his wife had changed drastically over the past few months to the point where she became a stranger to him or perhaps he did never understand her in the first place.

"You're not curious about the surprise?"

Venice shrugged her shoulders.

"I was thinking you, me, and Adam—South Beach. I can snatch four days away," John said.

Venice heaved a deep sigh and linked her gaze with her husband for the first time since he'd entered his house.

"Have a seat, John. We need to talk."

"Is something the matter?" John asked as he skipped around the dining table to sit across from her.

Venice evaded his smoldering eyes on her and sought refuge in the mug dancing between her hands, intently tailing the tendrils of steam soaring up from the burning fusion as a wave of dread flooded her being. Tea time was her favorite fragment of the day and she despised having to go through this around this precious, soothing time.

The room wallowed in stillness as no words had slipped past her slightly parted lips yet. Ever since she came back from her impromptu rendezvous with Dr. Smith, Venice had gone over many icebreakers. And although none seemed right, she still memorized some, but they'd all puffed into thin air as soon as she heard the creaking of the front door. Her heart wavered inside her chest at the fact that now she would have to improvise and channel her inner Meryl Streep.

Venice smiled subtly at the thought. _If only my life was a movie._

John's slender fingers inched to wrap around her hand, snapping her out of her daze. Worry brimmed his eyes as the inner turmoil of his wife bubbled on her features.

"Babe, what's going on?" John asked worriedly. "And where's Adam?"

"He'll spend the night at Caleb's."

Looking down, Venice glanced at the wedding band around his finger. What John had failed to notice, however, was that the magnificent diamond ring he'd proposed to her with and the shiny band he'd slipped in her finger after they'd pronounced their vows weren't ornamenting her hand anymore.

"I want to get a divorce."

Venice spluttered the words rapidly. They'd fired from her mouth like a missile, in one swift shot, and they promptly blew their target. The eruption she thought they'd make hadn't sounded around, yet, and Venice warily coasted her eyes up to look at her victim.

John remained motionless. His frame could've easily gotten mistaken for a wax sculpture, and for an instant, Venice feared his soul had, indeed, left his carcass. She was on the verge of speaking again when he intermittently blinked and severed his hand from hers. Her words had the effect of a cold, no, glacial shower, and he sat transfixed and drenched, heart thumping in a hectic frenzy as his thoughts dispersed in utter disarray.

"What are you talking about, Vee?" he asked after long, strenuous moments of quietness.

Venice met the inscrutable gaze of her husband and swallowed thickly. No matter what had happened or what was about to happen, no matter how much she despised and loathed him, this man was still the one she'd spent the past fifteen years of her life with; it was not easy on her heart in the slightest to see him this way, but what was to come was inevitable.

"I... I want to end this marriage," she reiterated, slowly and steadily. No matter how hard it was for him, it truly was what she wanted, and the more she spoke it aloud, the more she realized that that was the right decision to make.

John pushed his chair backward with a loud squeal and rose to his feet. Back facing her, he strode to the glass doors glazing the wall across from the dining table and ran a hand over his face. Eyes flickering frantically, he peered as the soft afternoon breeze rippled the fluid surface of the swimming pool outside. Lucid images of that summer when he'd taught his son how to swim in these shallow waters as Venice stood by the edge, cheering on her boy as she videotaped them flashed before his eyes. _She can't be serious._

Venice stood as well and remained stationed behind the table.

"John—"

He spun around brusquely. "This is a joke, right? You can't be serious."

"I am. I'm sorry but I—"

"No, Vee." He charged towards her and encompassed both her hands in his slightly trembling ones. "No, you don't know what you're saying. You're just tired."

"I know exactly what I'm saying, John. Look, what is done is done; this marriage is over."

John stared at their clasped hands, and with no protests from Venice, he tenderly shuffled his fingers to intertwine them with hers.

"Look, you're not thinking clearly. You need to have some rest," John began and Venice drooped her head, shaking it as he spoke. "No, no listen to me, please," he pleaded as he let go of her hands and cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. "We're gonna sit down, and settle everything. I know I've put you through so much but I love you, Vee. I can't live without you."

"You don't love me, John."

"Yes, I do. I've never loved another, I swear Vee. You're the love of my life; you can't do this to me—not after everything we've been through together," John said, the desperation almost tangible in his voice.

Venice's palms wrapped around his wrists as his hands remained hugging her face. "No. You don't love _me. _I don't think you ever did. You simply loved how I made _you_ feel. You loved my availability. You loved that no matter where your ventures took you and no matter how they ended you always had a place to go back to. You loved that I loved you and that I was dependent on you."

"No, Vee, please. I know I wasn't the greatest husband; hell, I was the worst. But don't you ever question my feelings for you, please. I'm— I..." he paused and leaned to rest his forehead against hers, swallowing thickly as the words clogged in his sore throat.

"Nobody hurts the one they love over and over, John," Venice whispered, sweltering tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. "For years I thought I wasn't enough—"

"No, no, no," John cooed, cutting her off.

"For days on end, I'd wrack my brain thinking about what they had that I didn't, John. What was I lacking?" she creaked, shattering John's heart into pieces.

"No, Vee. You're more than enough. You're too fucking good for me. You're more than I ever fucking deserved. I'm the one to blame; I'm sorry," John apologized, peppering her face with light kisses. Kisses that charred her warm flesh with the pure remorse and lament he waded in.

"But you know what I realized, John?" Venice asked, sniffing. "It's not me; it never was. There's nothing wrong with me. It's just who you are."

"You're right, there's nothing wrong with you. You're perfect. It was all me, but I've changed. I swear, Vee, I haven't done anything behind your back for months now," John said, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs.

A snicker inadvertently slipped past her quivering lips. "Months?" she derided, shaking her head and forcefully yanking his hands away. "What the fuck, John? You expect me to be proud because you haven't stuck your dick in someone for _months_? You think that's enough to atone for what you've been doing for _years_."

"You're completely missing the point," he said as he massaged his temple, his patience gradually fading away. "Listen, let me take to the bedroom, you'll sleep this off"

"No! Stop fucking dodging this. It is over, John. We're done. I don't love you anymore."

John's muscles went rigid. Venice's words penetrated his soul like a pointed arrow; the excruciating pain they inflicted veering through all of his parts the more he stared at her tear-stained face and her glimmering, vicious eyes. They spoke nothing but hatred and animosity towards him.

"You're lying," he mumbled, denial fogging his vision.

"It's the truth. I don't love you anymore; I have stopped loving you for a long time now."

"No. You're lying; that's not true. We just spent the night together before I left and you—"

"I felt absolutely _nothing_ that night." Venice's staunch voice sliced boldly. "Your kisses, your sweet talk, your touch, they don't affect me in the slightest anymore. I couldn't wait till that night was over and you took your hands off of me because, to be honest, John, your presence suffocates me," she finished, not an ounce of reticence detectable in her relentless tone.

Wiping the dried creeks on her cheeks with the back of her hand, Venice stood her ground as she intently followed John's benumbed form sluggishly waddle before he stumbled on a seat by the table. Propping his elbows on his knees, he held his head with both hands as he looked down, drowning in the bottomless abyss of his qualms as a thick mist of deception and delusion swept over his senses. He'd truly believed that their amorous night had restored their long-lost affection and had revitalized their lifeless connection. But seemingly, those passionate feelings were unrequited, and that made him felt sick to his stomach. He felt _manipulated_.

"It's because of _him,_ right?" John asked.

"What are you talking about?"

John lowered his arms and, keeping his elbows posted on his knees, he clasped his hands before him—eyes fused into the floor in an unfaltering stare.

"That motherfucker. Your shrink. It's because of him; he turned you against me," he said through gritted teeth.

"I can't believe that even in a time like this you still manage to put the blame on others. You're incredible."

John chuckled mockingly as he lifted his head. "So, we're gonna pretend like he had nothing do with this?"

"_He_ had nothing to do with this; therapy did."

John scoffed. "Guess I was right. You _are_ fucking him," he said, all his previous pleading and begging morphing into vile slurs as he let sheer venom seep through his teeth.

Venice rolled her eyes, aware of what he was trying to achieve. He wanted to infuriate her—to strike her nerves and impel her into an intractable state of upheaval, but she wasn't having it. She wouldn't allow him to stray her away from the objective she'd set in mind: get done with this as soon as possible and keep things as amicable as he would allow her.

"I am not having this conversation again."

"We didn't finish last time. You ran away because you knew I was right; I'd struck a nerve apparently."

Venice held her silence, breathing steadily as she let the intakes of air inwardly pacify her racing heart. _Don't fall for his shit, Venice._

John stood up and paced the space between the windows and the dining table which segregated him from his wife.

"So, what did he do? You bitched to him about me and your mommy, sketching yourself as the victim, and he patted your head and told you how poor you were, right?" John taunted. "He made you think that you're special and that we're the problem?"

Venice munched the inside of her cheeks, feeling hotness simmer up her face.

"I can't believe all this time I was paying that motherfucker to wreck my home," he said, snickering in distress as he rubbed his forehead. "How much does he make a year, by the way? I've spoilt you way too much; you know. I fear he won't be able to handle your pampered ass."

"John," she called, trying her hardest not to surrender to the rising tempest within her. "Look, let not get on each other's bad sides, okay? You'll always be the father of my child. But it's over. Erwin or no Erwin, it would've ended anyway."

"No, it wouldn't have. You've stayed because you had no one to take care of you. Because you were a lazy bitch who needed someone to provide for her. That's why you put up with my affairs; because you liked the watches, the cars, the trips... And now that you found someone else to blood suck, you want to throw me away? You're nothing but a greedy, selfish slut."

"Fuck you, John."

"Yeah, fuck me. Of course, cause you know I'm right."

"You know better than anyone that I'm anything but that. I stayed because I loved you. Because I had faith that you'd change, but you never did, you son of a bitch. Was it so hard to keep your cock in your pants and not shove it up every hole you walked past?" Venice shouted.

"You knew the deal and still married me. No one forced any of this shit on you."

"I knew the deal?" Venice repeated in disbelief.

"Yeah, you did. Back when you were still in college, you knew how I was," John said flippantly. "But you wanted all this," he finished, spreading his arms wide open.

Tears brimmed at the corners of Venice's bloodshot eyes as her mouth hung ajar in complete astonishment. "I want you out of this house by the end of the week," she muttered before she spun around and began her retreat out of the dining room.

John chuckled uncannily. "_You_ want _me_ out? This is _my_ house!" he shouted.

Shadowing behind his wife as she strode across the hallway and up the stairs, John yanked her arm and Venice swiveled to face him, slamming his hand away. "Don't you ever dare lay a fucking finger on me again," she screamed furiously before crossing the corridor and storming into their bedroom.

Slamming the door, John swiftly blocked it just before it blasted into its latch. Scampering further inside, Venice sought refuge in their dressing room, shielding behind the center table.

"You think anyone will love you the way did?"

"I don't want anyone to love me. I just fucking want you gone."

John ran his hand over his face as he stood by the entrance. "You're a fucking hypocrite," he muttered.

Venice let out a long breath, her hands raking her shorts hairs backward before tugging at their ends. "Your insults won't get to me, John. I won't let you break me; I am not the one at fault here."

"Oh? Because you're a pure, innocent angel, right?" John chuckled. "Keeping a baby just to tame his father? How fucking virtuous of you."

"What are you talking about?" Venice mumbled.

"Back then, at the hospital when you gave birth, your mother told me everything. She told me how you weren't ready for children. How you were thinking of aborting at first but then you saw a chance to tie me down and decided to keep him. Well, fucking surprise, it takes more than a kid to tame me," John spat with a roguish smile.

Venice's chest heaved up and down as her breathing labored and her rib cage tightened around her throbbing heart. Rivers of silent tears cascaded down her fervent face as a murky layer of blood surged over her flaming eyes, blurring her sight.

"And you believed her?" she asked, out of breath.

"I hadn't at the time, or maybe I did but just didn't care; you know why? Because I fucking loved you. I was just happy you were willing to give me another chance after I'd fucked up over and over again. But now, I see she was right. No wonder your son hates you."

"Get out!" Venice yelled at the top of her lungs as he hand instantly reached for a perfume sitting atop the table, hurling it across the room.

John recoiled as the glass of the bottle violently crashed against the wooden wall to his left—a jumble of debris flying around and splattering on the floor as Venice crumbled to her knees and stooped forward, head in her hands as her hysterical wails sounded around the enclosed room.


End file.
